


we're dreaming together, dreamers shout back

by hwayung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, basically its an interpretation of the go mv, but more mafia-y i suppose, tags as i goooo, technically its a, there will be tears, they all love each other you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwayung/pseuds/hwayung
Summary: When Mark fled to America, hopped on the first all-round trip Taeyong could get him on, he foresaw himself laying low until everything in the Ukraine could get worked out. He didn’t foresee himself finding solace and reinforcements in six street thugs.





	1. it's always the same story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With both cops out of the way for the time being, Mark looked down at the boy pitifully. He deliberated intently for a few moments, worrying his chapped bottom lip, before grabbing the keys to the handcuffs and unlocking the restraints. Then he hoisted the boy onto his back--he was quite light--and cut across the street quickly, despite the blinking orange hand that advised otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i love the dreamies with my entire heart and soul and i actually have this whole note about how to connect boss, bds, and go, but every time i watch the mv or performance of go i wanna write shit so bad so here

When Mark fled to America, hopped on the first all-round trip Taeyong could get him on, he foresaw himself laying low until everything in the Ukraine could get worked out. He foresaw himself maybe finding an abandoned warehouse or some other completely inconspicuous place to train while he was in hiding. He didn’t foresee himself finding solace and reinforcements in six street thugs.

Johnny was unable to meet him there, or guide him through any major transactions or transitions because tensions between groups and familial relations were too tense; everyone was on edge. But, being in the US at the same time was enough, and Johnny contacted a few of his subordinates to help Mark get situated.

But Mark had not even been in Los Angeles for half a day before getting involved with a ragtag group of scrappy orphans, beginning with a mysterious boy with glimmering eyes.

Night had already fallen, the stars dimmed by the pollution of the city lights. Early morning would be approaching soon. Earlier that day, Johnny’s underlings had already shown him where he could stay, and Mark thought it safest to explore at night, where he was less likely to be seen or captured with any type of recording device, as well as more in his element.

He’d been kind of isolated in Ukraine--Taeyong said it was for the best--but he knew that crime could be pretty rampant in America, as it could anywhere. So as he scuffled along the dirty sidewalks and his hair was blown upon by the racing police car that passed him on the streets, he paid no mind. Until he was on his back with the wind knocked out of him.

“Fuck,” his attacker groaned. They were a large lump of body mass on the chilly gravel, and Mark rubbed at the back of his hand with his palm to try and ease the dull ache from impact with the ground.

And then the body on top of his was gone.

Mark blinked rather sluggishly up at the figure looming over him.

“Get up,” he said in subtly accented English. He held out a small hand. Mark grasped it back hesitantly, his reflexes on edge as he prepared to strike if the need arose.

Now on his feet, Mark was actually significantly taller than the potential enemy, probably by three inches at least.

“Sorry,” the boy said, accent considerably decreased.

“It was probably my fau--” Mark began, but the blaring of police sirens returned, and then Mark was being pulled by his wrist.

“Please,” the boy whispered, head looking over his shoulder back at Mark. Had it been anyone else, Mark mused, they would have ditched by now. But with Mark’s knowledge and personal experience, he wasn’t blind to the situation.

“Fuck,” the boy cursed again, this time in Korean. Korean?

As they turned the corner into the nearest shadowed alleyway, the boy pressed Mark against the wall--this seemed slightly unnecessary--with his face strangely close to his. Though Mark had more than a couple inches on him, he could still feel the warmth of his breath, which smelt sort of like stale cinnamon.

The sirens came and went in a crescendo of noise, and a few people trickled by. Because they were so close together, Mark could feel how tense the other boy’s shoulders were, and they only began to decrease as it became evident no more people would be walking by soon. The boy pulled away rather sheepishly, which seemed a little out of character considering he had just had Mark pressed up against the bricks.

“Sorry, again. It’s my fault,” the boy murmured, voice still low as a precaution.

“It’s okay,” Mark replied in Korean. The boy answered back in the same language, surprised.

“You speak Korean as well?” Mark nodded. “I haven’t seen you around the city.”

“I arrived today.” Mark was an idiot. He knew he was an idiot. Taeyong had spent so long banging it into his thick skull that people couldn’t be trusted. Hell, they had just been betrayed by one of their own back in Ukraine, and Mark still hadn’t learned. Especially in his line of work, trusting just anyone you meet on the streets could be signing your own death warrant.

But this kid, with his plush lips and soft, sparkling eyes. He seemed so far from dangerous.

“Well,” the boy began, already rolling on the balls of his feet anxiously. “Bye.” And took off. Mark felt strangely sad to see him leave, but he knew it was for the best.

Mark pursed his lips as he thought about Taeyong and the syndicate back home; he missed them. More than he could ever articulate. But he’d chosen to go rogue, and Taeyong was counting on him. He had a meeting with an informant in two days, and he needed to do some preparing, so Mark began his trek to the rundown apartment Johnny had provided him.

Mark hadn’t seen which way the boy had fled to, but he assumed this, as well, was for the best. He’d always been one to try and help the helpless.

Mark looked at the small bits of horizon that were visible, and then up at the clear, yet starless skies. It was dark but seemed hooded by something, and only the moon twinkled faintly. He let the chilly breeze wash across his dry cheeks, but was brought out of his haze by loud noises. Not sirens this time, either.

There were grunts of pain. Flesh on flesh. Something metallic sounding hitting the ground. Hitting a pole. And then, a yell.

“Fuck!” a familiar voice rang out; it was only the third time Mark had heard it in a span of ten minutes. “Eat shit, motherfucker!”

Then, a violent buzzing sound. A taser.

Mark broke into a run and rounded the corner. There, on the ground still twitching slightly, was the boy he just ran into pinned down by two beefy cops. He suddenly looked so young, and Mark was acting before he even realized it, before he even considered the logistics.

“Help! Help, thank God I’ve found some cops,” Mark gasped out breathlessly. “It’s terrible, I need your help immediately!”

One of the cops stood up while the other handcuffed the boy. “What is it, son?” For as merciless as he was beating up that boy, he had the audacity to sound genuinely concerned.

“A woman was just molested and attacked by her boyfriend in an alleyway. I didn’t know what to do so I just ran. She was all bloody and everything.”

The man spared a quick glance over his shoulder and nodded once at his partner.

“Where is she, son?”

“She was a block that way,” Mark answered innocently, pointing in the direction he’d just come from. “My mom will kill me, I feel like a terrible person, I need to go home.”

“It’s alright, son. You’ve done the right thing. Get home safe, now.” And then he was gone,

Mark’s furrowed eyebrows filled with fake concern and lies disappeared. The other cop was still securing the boy, and hoisting him up ruthlessly from the ground.

“Hey, fuckface,” Mark called out. The cop looked up, a dangerous look in his eye.

“What did you just call me?”

“Fuck. Face.”

“I swear to God--” he mumbled, and then opened his mouth, most probably to call out to his partner that the information Mark had just issued was a lie, that he didn’t need to check it out, that they had another one to take to the station tonight.

But before he could get any of that out, Mark was on him with a perfectly aimed jab to the jugular, momentarily stunning him and sending his staggering backwards. Then, without hesitation, Mark delivered a swift uppercut to his jaw, and slapped his other hand on the cop’s thigh, pulling the recently used taser out forcefully, doing a quick recharge, and giving the cop a taste of his own medicine.

With both cops out of the way for the time being, Mark looked down at the boy pitifully. He deliberated intently for a few moments, worrying his chapped bottom lip, before grabbing the keys to the handcuffs and unlocking the restraints. Then he hoisted the boy onto his back--he was quite light--and cut across the street quickly, despite the blinking orange hand that advised otherwise.

The few people that were out in transition hours to morning gave a few dumb stares, but Mark guessed they were too doped up on who knows what that they weren’t a major concern. The major concern would be dodging police until he could get back to his apartment. Jesus fuck, Mark had only been in LA for like, seven fucking hours.

Luckily Mark was strong, luckily Mark was fast, luckily the boy weighed very little, luckily they made it back without any hiccups. Mark sighed as he looked at the frail, rusting outdoor staircase leading up to his third floor apartment. He twisted his neck to the right, and then to the left, with a loud cracking noise, and chugged his way up the stairs, all too aware of the body on top of him; even light people became heavy after a while. Once he reached the top, with one hand on the boy’s left ankle, Mark opened his crappy apartment and flicked the lights on. Then came the buzzing noise quite immediately as the old generator chugged away to light the entirety of the place; it felt more like a warehouse than an apartment. But, as crummy as it was, it was quite spacy.

So Mark threw the keys onto the glass coffee table and shut the door with his foot, before gently easing the boy onto the sofa.

Now that his face was illuminated by the lights, Mark already saw the formation of a split lip. From the look of his knuckles, though, Mark presumed he’d put up a decent fight. There was a cut beneath his left eye, and a bruise above the other. The boy’s too-thin-for-this-weather shirt had ridden up due to the jostling of being thrown on the couch, and Mark spotted the beginnings of the taser bruise.

He turned around to lock the door before disappearing to his conjoined room and returned with a semi-heavy comforter type thing, and a pillow. He situated the boy into what he hoped what a slightly comfortable position, but he was so out from the taser shock Mark figured it didn’t matter all that much. He would get answers tomorrow.

Mark pushed one of the comfier chairs in front of the door and in eyesight of the boy with his own retrieved blanket from his room, and closed his eyes to let a light sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short fuck they will get longer im soRRY
> 
> find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com


	2. those withered looks from you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then what do you want?” the boy wheezed out. His pupils, as he looked up to Mark’s face, shook with definite fear. Mark had seen that look too many times. He was sick of it. He was sick of being the bad guy. 
> 
> “I want to be the good guy,” Mark answered simply, folding the knife in and offering it to the boy with one hand, and holding out the other for the boy to take to use as leverage to bring himself to his feet again. “For once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was a little too excited to post again and i strayed a bit further from what i had intended...but i needed to make it believable and the characters believable as well... 
> 
> there is a reason for renjun being so indecisive but you'll have to wait for that as i develop it...

The morning came like a whirlwind, and Mark awoke to a tight feeling in his wrists and ankles. As he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, the overwhelming light filtering through the tall window to the right of him, he did a quick scan of the room, all the years of alert he’s been on in Ukraine manifesting from his subconscious.

The empty apartment, at first, did not startle him. But in the minute it took to snap himself into full awareness, he realized that before he’d gone to bed, he’d tucked in a stranger from the night. A stray. Now, that stray was nowhere to be found.

The second thing that Mark noticed, was that his chair was no longer situated in front of the door, but was instead in back where it began, but facing the opposite direction and towards the kitchen.

The third and final thing that Mark noticed, was that his hands had been bound with zip ties (where the fuck had they even come from) as well as his ankles. He began to squirm, and his eyes furrowed with confusion and annoyance.

“I didn’t like you watching me while I slept,” a crisp voice called out. Korean, Mark registered. His words, Mark noted, were spoken formally.

Mark stopped moving and sighed in exasperation. “Is this really any way to repay the guy who saved your ass last night? Or were you really looking forward to sleeping in a holding cell?”

The boy walked forward from behind the chair Mark was tied up in, and slowed to a stop in front of him. He pulled a wooden stool from the kitchen, and plopped down. He fingered the pocketknife he held in his right hand with his left pointer finger. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he murmured.

“Really?” Mark retorted. “Because from what I remember, you grabbed my hand and whispered ‘please’ to me.”

The boy’s features hardened. “That was different,” he asserted.

Mark remained quiet for a brief period of time. The boy seemed undeterred, and continued to play with the blade of his knife, allowing Mark a chance to really study him as a specimen.

The shirt he wore was thin and wrinkled, nowhere near warm enough for the chill that had haunted last night’s air and the early morning’s darkness. His pants were maroon, and looked to be of velvet-like material. His shoes were dirty sneakers. The tousled hair that fell in loose strands into his face when he moved was a dark brown. His outfit in general seemed strange and off-putting.

His facial features, on the contrary, were soft and boy-ish. Youthful. His eyes were a warm brown, like the color of roasted almonds. His lips were objectively thin, but seemed to masquerade as plush, due to the thin nature of the rest of his face. Overall, he was cute. Overall, he was innocent. Mark chuckled.

“What?” the boy asked. It didn’t seem dangerous; it lacked bite. Mark could tell that it was meant to sound menacing, but when you grow up in one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in Europe, you learn how to tell the differences and the caliber of hostility through just a single word.

“Nothing. It’s just that you look too cute to be waving a tiny blade around and trying to threaten me.” Mark wriggled his wrists and ankles again, much less panicked than the first time around, and made quick work of slipping his way out of them. He looked up to see the boy’s eyebrows furrow in concern (and maybe a little fear, even despite the fact that he was the one with the visible weapon) as Mark threw the zip ties to the side and stood up. He stretched lazily to stave off the tightness of sleep.

The boy now lifted his knife with wary eyes and wary movements. “Who are you?” he whispered.

Mark smiled a sincere smile. “No one of importance.” The boy shook his head still, blade still in the air.

“A nobody would not be able to get out of those restraints that easily.”

“I’m a _special_ nobody, then.” The boy, again, shook his head. Mark began advancing. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt you.”

The boy laughed incredulously. “You’re saying that to me? I am the one with the weapon, you know.”

Now it was Mark’s turn to shake his head. Swiftly, he lunged forward and chopped downwards on the boy’s wrist while grabbing the knife in the same motion. Then he delivered a jab between his ribs, leaving the boy to fall to his knees with heaving breaths. Mark, now above the boy, looked down. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Mark repeated.

“Then what _do_ you want?” the boy wheezed out. His pupils, as he looked up to Mark’s face, shook with definite fear. Mark had seen that look too many times. He was sick of it. He was sick of being the bad guy.

“I want to be the good guy,” Mark answered simply, folding the knife in and offering it to the boy with one hand, and holding out the other for the boy to take to use as leverage to bring himself to his feet again. “For once.”

The boy’s look turned wary, but the terror began to seep from his nut-brown eyes, softening them again. “I can’t trust you,” he said. “I won’t.”

“You’re smart,” Mark replied. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

The boy finally reached his own hand out, accepting Mark’s offer and lifting himself to his feet. He grabbed the knife and, after a brief moment of hesitation, stashed it away in his back pocket. “So…” the boy prompted.

“So...” Mark continued. “Let me prove myself to you.”

The boy chuckled. “And how will you do that?”

Mark didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned around to push the chair back into its original position. He looked down at it, hands on his hips. After a final miniscule nudge with the toe of his shoe, he deemed it acceptable and turned back to the boy, relocating his hands from off his hips to his jean pockets. “Well, for starters, why don’t you let me escort you home safely? You have a home, don’t you?”

The boy nibbled his bottom lip (quite cutely, but Mark supposed that wasn’t an incredibly important detail) and scratched lightly at his temples. “I wouldn’t call it a home,” he said finally. “But the people I run with are my home. And we’re staying in a rundown place just a few blocks south from here.”

“You know where we are?”

“I woke up before you. I had enough time to tie you up. You thought I wouldn’t look outside?” The boy spoke as if this was the dumbest thing he’d ever had to explain in his life.

“Then why didn’t you run?”

The boy deliberated. He remained silent, just as Mark had done only a short while earlier. Worrying at his lips again, he shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I guess I was intrigued by you.”

Funny, Mark thought. He could say the same thing about this boy.

“So is that a yes then? May I escort you back?” Mark questioned.

“I suppose so,” the boy responded. “Although keep in mind that I’m a little sour about you jabbing me in the gut earlier.”

Mark laughed as he saw a grin break out on the boy’s face. “Will do.”

Mark started towards the door first, because he figured that the boy would still have doubts about his intentions. And Mark, for some reason--maybe he was lonely and missing people to converse with and people to protect and people to have his back--wanted to take this boy in so bad, And he wanted to boy to take him back.

“I’m just going to assume you’re following me,” Mark said, not looking back. He turned the knob and swiped his keys before opening the door and letting the sunlight wash over him. He made quick work down the metal grate staircase, overflowing aglets making a tiny clinging noise as they bobbed between the grating. Finally on the street, he saw a pretty crummy car that he had not seen the day before, and intuitively looked down at the key set he had not yet taken the chance to give his full attention to.

Sure enough, there was an old, greasy looking car key that he grasped smugly; he thanked Johnny in his head for the nth time.

“Looks like we have a ride, kid,” Mark called out, taking short strides across the sidewalk before reaching the vehicle and opening it up. Without waiting for any answer, he plopped into the driver’s seat, and curled his palms around the steering wheel. A few seconds later, the passenger side door open, and the boy sat down.

“Who you callin’ ‘kid’?” he muttered. Upon looking over, Mark saw that the boy’s lips were molded into a pout, and he laughed lightheartedly.

“Fine, then. What year were you born?” Mark asked.

“I’m a ‘00 kid,” the boy replied.

“Yeah?” Mark replied, turning away and inserting the key into the slot and starting the ignition. “Well I’m a ‘99 kid.” He switched the gear into drive, started pulling away from the curb, and pushed the car to twenty-five in a matter of seconds. “Which means I win.”

“Don’t expect me to call you ‘hyung’,” the boy grumbled, though something about his tone seemed giddy.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Mark deadpanned back. The boy giggled quietly, but Mark let it go. “Now you have to tell me where I’m going, _kid_.” Sparing a quick glance over, Mark flashed the boy a smug grin.

After roughly ten minutes of driving and little talk, save for the directions given by the boy, Mark pulled off of the main streets and down several different alleyways, dropping his speed to a crawling ten miles per hour. Five minutes later, and they were pulling in front of a large abandoned building; warehouse, factory, what-have-you.

“And here we are,” the boy announced.

Wordlessly, Mark rolled the car to a stop before turning off the ignition and taking out the key. Mark and the boy clambered out of their seats simultaneously, their car doors closing within a five nanosecond margin of each other, and began the short trek to the wide and looming doors of the building.

The inside, shaded by the trees cascading above the entire building from the outside, was dark and cold. A steady drip of water sounded somewhere far off.

“It was a factory, you see,” the boy began, his voice echoing loudly.

Mark nodded as he soaked in the surroundings and layout of the building. From the looks of it, it was in bad shape and he was surprised it hadn’t caved in yet. He peeled his eyes away from the upper foundations and looked to his side to talk to the boy, only to find he had disappeared. He looked to the other side. Still no sign of him.

“Hey, kid?” Mark called out. “Where’d you g--”

“Sorry,” a voice, different than the boy’s, whispered under their breath. And then there was a sharp pain in Mark’s head, sending him to his knees. But Mark’s body was stubborn, and had been subjected to much worse in his time in the syndicate. He shook away the distant ringing he heard, and was able to lift his left knee to near-standing. But another blow came from behind, and then another from the right side. Mark was on the ground again, groaning. A final blow came from above.

“I’m sorry.”

The original boy’s voice this time.

As Mark’s vision tunneled, he heard more voices, sounding even younger than the boy he had taken in the previous night.

“It’s alright, Renjun,” one of them said. What an odd name, Mark’s dazed mind thought. “It had to be done.”

And then suddenly: “Don’t hurt him anymore!” the original boy pleaded. Was this Renjun? Mark didn’t know.

“Hyung, he’s dangerous--”

“He could still be of use. Please. Just restrain him for now.”

“You heard him,” a completely new boy called out. There was a strength in his voice that wasn't nearly as prominent in any of the others. His voice was crisp and clear, but with a slight thickness to his words. Like his tongue was too big for his mouth.

“Leave him be.” A nudge at his shoulder. “We’ll make our decisions once he’s awake.”

Mark fell into the ever-encroaching darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh that sucked didn't it whoops yeah anyway to the people who thought it was donghyuck ;)))))) it wasn't !!!!
> 
> also thanks to everyone that commented !! it means a lot to me, really
> 
> find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com


	3. living without much thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark briefly toggled between responses and how he wanted to handle things, opting rather to attempt to appease them and to not challenge any kind of authority they felt they had. If he could diffuse the situation, and get out without having to kill any (comparatively) innocent kids, Mark could consider it a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'aight so i highkey hate myself and this chapter but like,,,i'm so haunted by the fear of inconsistency in their behavior cuz i know they sure as hell wouldn't just,,,accept anyone who came to them like they been on the street for a while (whoops spoiler but not really) and they know when someone is too fishy for their own good so unfortunately mark can't be integrated with the dreamies just yet :(((( but i think i can rectify that next chapter...
> 
> even though i suck thanks for all the positive feedback !!!

As Mark began to shake off the lingering blanket of darkness, his hearing crescendoed painfully; the voices were debilitatingly loud one minute and so soft he could barely hear anything the next.

“I think he’s waking up,” someone murmured; a soft voice with a loose, drawling pronunciation.

“Took him long enough,” another voice muttered distastefully.

“Shut up,” the familiar voice that Mark had accustomed himself two in the past day chided. “Wake up.”

Mark’s mind, though, continued to drag itself in and out of awareness, his head lolling uncomfortably against the flat of his chest. And then, cold.

Water dripped off the tips of his now matted hair, which clumped together thickly. Mark shook his head, drops of liquid flying off his eyelashes like transparent frogs. A hollow bucket thudded to the floor and began to roll away, the plastic rolling on the cement aggravating Mark’s minor headache.

He inhaled deeply, before bringing his head up heavily to look at the group of ragtag kids that looked over him in a semi circle and who had, once again, restrained him with rough, scratchy twine. His ankles and wrists had been tied to the legs and arms of the chairs, respectively.

A single rusting lamp towered off to the side, providing only minimal yellow light to illuminate the group.

Mark sighed. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “You got me. Now what?”

Mark garnered no response, so he instead took to seeking out the only boy out of the four, five, _six_ , of them, that he knew. The quick scan revealed him as third from the left, and the shortest out of the whole group. His head dropped as Mark established eye contact.

“Forgive me,” Mark thought he heard him mutter.

A boy with dark orange hair gave the boy’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze and stepped forward.

“Listen, we’re not in the business of getting rid of people,” he said sternly. “But we are in the business of shutting people up. If need be.”

Mark could easily tell he was putting up a façade, and felt no imminent threat from his mannerisms. None, at least, like the ones he experienced on the daily in Ukraine.

And this _voice_ , this voice was the last one he’d heard before he’d passed out; the thickness of his words was undeniable and familiar.

Mark briefly toggled between responses and how he wanted to handle things, opting rather to attempt to appease them and to not challenge any kind of authority they felt they had. If he could diffuse the situation, and get out without having to kill any (comparatively) innocent kids, Mark could consider it a win.

“Before you shut me up,” Mark began, completing another quick flick of his hair and drying out his waterlogged hair just that much more. “Can I at least know your names? Personally, I like to know who I’m dealing with.” Mark zeroed back in on the boy from earlier, freezing him with solid and unavoidable eye contact. “Especially you.”

The boy that had come forward earlier followed his line of sight, and his expression hardened further. “Don’t address him. Don’t even look at him,” he growled, as another boy stepped closer to the boy in question and put a protective hand on his shoulder. This new individual had orange hair as well; lighter, though, almost a tangerine color.

“So?” Mark prompted.

The carrot haired boy said nothing, but spared a glance back to Boy Number One. Despite the earlier advice, Mark looked at him and mouthed, “ _Remember: I don’t want to hurt you_.”

Boy Number One swallowed thickly, shifted his attention to Carrot Top, and nodded once.

Despite his meek actions, Boy Number One stepped forward first, in line with the other one, and cleared his throat. “Renjun,” he answered simply.

The others reluctantly followed suit, and a straw haired blonde with beak-like lips came forward to say, “Jisung.” His youth was obvious, but Mark was deterred by his height, as he was clearly taller than any of the boys there.

A natural-looking black haired boy waddled forward, and offered in a low, but soft voice, “Jeno.”

The tangerine haired boy who had comforted Boy Number One--Renjun--earlier, hesitantly stepped into place next to the latter. His eyes were wary, but his eyebrows were pointed and fixed. “Jaemin,” he murmured reluctantly. Renjun gave him a subtle half-smile.

The last of the boys, another blonde, but hair slightly darker in shade than the other, came forward and sighed out, “Chenle.” This most definitely was not Korean, but Mark let it pass over his head for now.

And finally, the boy who had been the first to confront Mark tightened his shoulders and curled the corner of his lip with distaste. “And I’m Haechan.”

“Well,” Mark breathed out. He’d never been surrounded by so many near-aged kids; the syndicate was all young adults, save for Lucas. “I’m Mark Lee. It’s nice to meet your acquaintance.”

No response.

“But,” he began again. “The question still stands: what will you do now? You have me restrained, slightly more adequately I must admit--I assume that had something to do with you, Renjun.” The boy in question shrugged. “You’re a quick learner. That’s good.”

“I said it before, I’ll say it once more: don’t address him.” Carrot Top, _Haechan_ , spoke with renewed vigor, and his brows set much harsher than before. Mark knew what he’d said earlier, but the kid had undergone a change in atmosphere that had Mark intrigued. _This_ , this was true hostility.

No, Mark was wrong.

This was true protectiveness.

It had been a long while since Mark had been this overwhelmed with this emotion. And it was in this moment, that Mark made an executive decision: he wanted to recruit them for the syndicate. Once all the unrest in Ukraine was sorted out, Taeyong would take care of them like he took care of everyone else.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mark chorused again. Haechan laughed spitefully.

“Then what _do_ you want, _Mark Lee_?”

“I want to join your ranks.” Mark watched as all six boys exchanged looks like it didn’t even matter that he was in front of them.

“That’s a solid ‘no’ from me,” Haechan growled. “I think the others would agree.”

“I could be of use. I could _help_ you.”

“Don’t tell us what we can and can’t do,” another said; Jeno.

“I’m not telling you,” Mark assured. “I’m begging you. From the looks of it, you aren’t in the best straits. Neither am I. Renjun saw that at my apartment. I live alone. I moved here yesterday. It’s the first time I’ve been away from home in...I don’t even know how long.”

A brief silence. That silence, then broken by Jaemin. “You must have a reason for coming to Los Angeles, then. There’s no way you just _left_ home without prompt or disaster.”

Must be the brainy one, Mark mused. He’d worked him into a corner.

“You’re right. There was trouble back home. I’m waiting for things to cool down.” Not a lie.

“Bullshit,” Jaemin muttered, shaking his head. “Your microexpressions tell me there’s more.”

Fuck, he _was_ the brains. It was Mark’s fault for assuming none of them knew how to study facial mannerisms. In an attempt to seem meek and trustworthy, he’d let his guard down. Mark’s stomach dropped; Taeyong would be disappointed.

“I can’t tell you specifics.”

“That’s our cue, boys,” Jaemin announced. The others nodded--Renjun somewhat reluctantly--in agreement.

Jeno shook his head as he latched onto Renjun’s wrist, and began to pull him away towards the shadows of the abandoned factory. Jaemin and the others were quick to follow, until only Haechan remained in front of him, dim light bouncing off his orange locks.

“Okay,” Haechan began. “Good news: you’re getting out of here relatively unharmed.”  
  
Mark suspended eye contact with the remaining boy, running his eyes up and down and across the corners of his face. “And the bad news?” he finally inquired, though he was sure he knew an array of potential answers.

“The bad news is that you won’t be conscious while doing so.”

Mark was unsurprised. Disappointed, yes. But unsurprised.

“Just get it over with,” Mark muttered under his breath.  
  
Haechan seemed to opt to not acknowledge him, instead walking backwards, eyes set, unblinking, on Mark, across the cement to pick up a baseball bat that leaned standing up against a table a few feet back, well out of range of the lamp. He dragged it behind him as he reappeared in front of Mark.

“This will be your one and final warning,” Haechan whispered. “Stay away from my family.”

And then he swung.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a few things: i hate this chapter and now u can see why like i literally hate this story so far bc i can't write I'm so sorry but i rlly wanna get better 
> 
> also, it's research paper weekend (its due mon and i have half a page fuCK) so i wanted to squeeze a chapter in but like,,,it sucks but I'm tired it is 2.30 in the morning fffjdsjf i didn't plan to update but dreamies performances in dubai shook me to the core like my boy renjun's high note really just saved 2k18 and jaemin !!! performing !!! we young choreography !!! was everything i needed in my life FUCk 
> 
> if u wanna talk about my kids aka nct dream with me, find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com


	4. like you're being swept away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In messy scrawl: If trouble, call xxx-xxx-xxxx. 
> 
> Mark licked his drying lips, and bit the inside of the cheek. He understood why it had been censored, and he knew well how to reveal the hidden numbers, but it worked the best but once, and there had been no trouble of a grand scale yet. It was not yet time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i ended up writing a whole fucking ton also disclaimer idk la and idk how fighting works 
> 
> it just kept getting longer and longer but i wanted to get the last part in with the dreamies flsjflks i'm sorry 
> 
> mark, at least u get a lot of backstory in this lol
> 
> also who knows how many fucking errors are in here + i made some changes in the earlier chapters, not that y'all necessarily care but that's a thing just so u know

Mark awoke in his apartment. But he was not disoriented. He knew exactly what happened, and was honestly too tired to question what went on while he was knocked out (let alone which and how one of those scrawny kids got him up the steps).

Begrudgingly, he sat up from his staged placement on the sofa, and rubbed at the side of his head where pain dully throbbed. He could already feel the formation of the bump and the bruise that would emerge within due time, and cursed bitterly.

Johnny had provided him with an old flip-phone--smartphones were too trackable and too hackable--and Mark felt around in his front pocket for it. He wouldn’t have been too worried if it had been gone, but he would have been inconvenienced. Alas, if the boys he had encountered had found it, they saw of what nature it was and probably dubbed it non-threatening (who wouldn’t?).

In pixelated font, the home screen read “Thursday, April 22nd”. He’d been unconscious since the afternoon when he was tied up by a bunch of kids, until the next morning. Mark shook his head to gather his bearings as the date rung bells of familiarity in his head.

Oh. Today he met his informant.

Mark didn’t know who it would be, but Johnny had wholeheartedly assured him he was trustworthy. Their meeting was set at 20:00 sharp, but it was currently only 15:00 and Mark had a lot of time to spare.

His next move was determined as his stomach began to rumble, and it occurred to Mark that he had not eaten in close to a day. But, since he hadn’t been at the apartment for close to a day either, there was nothing to eat. So Mark hauled his body--aching shoulders, pounding head and all--to a standing position and walked towards the door. He looked down; whoever had delivered him back to the apartment had still taken his shoes off at the door. Mark chuckled spitefully. There was a limited amount of ways that relations with these kids could end up, and Mark was unsure of what route he wanted to even start working towards.

A particularly painful thump plagued Mark’s bruised temple, and he stumbled out the door to the nearest convenience store in hopes of finding some good, old-fashioned ramen.

\---

So after Mark had returned home and finished eating--he bought cup ramen--he finally seized the opportunity time had granted him. He still had seven hours until his intel meeting, and he had yet to look through the supplies Johnny had left in the apartment for him.

The cardboard box, which had been sitting directly in front of the door the first day Mark arrived in Los Angeles, tripping him as he stumbled in the late night darkness, was slightly worn, and looked like the boxes that detectives file case material in. Mark had hidden the box under his bed without looking at it that first night, as he had passed out almost immediately following the long flight from Ukraine. Now, Mark trudged into the second floor bedroom to retrieve it.

The third floor apartment had a unique layout design, in that, once you walked in the front door, the expanse of the living room was first noticeable. The kitchen lay just beyond, and connected to a single bathroom after a short trek down a hall. There was a second floor, Mark guessed, but just barely. The stairs led up to a bed and another empty, musty smelling room connected to the “bedroom”. But the second floor lacked any physical barrier from the edge; it was a straight drop back down to the living room.

But it was an apartment, and for that, Mark was grateful.

Mark reached his creaky bed and dropped to his knees to fumble his hands around underneath. His fingers curled around a stretched oval hole (there was one on either side, made for easier carrying) and he slid it out, the cardboard making a hissing noise as it dragged against the dirtied carpeting.

Not bothered enough to bring the box back downstairs, Mark settled for leaning his back against the bed with a creak (the bed not his back), and swinging his legs over the open cavern above the first floor layout.

Mark sighed heavily as he tipped the lid off with a fingertip. As he peered in, his first thought was that the box was much too large for what it actually contained. Two extra burner phones, a few, thin manila files, and a leather notebook, already seemingly weathered with use. Mark found himself a little disappointed, as he was bored out of his mind and wanted something to distract him for the time being.

Going rogue had not been as riveting as Mark had previously thought it would be.

Starting with the files, Mark plucked them out and set them in his lap. Fingering through them, he found a few transcripts of transactions with past clients (copies of course), nothing he hadn’t seen before. The second file was more copied materials, this time of photographs. Mark repressed a shudder as he looked at the subjects in the pictures: Doyoung, Lucas, Jungwoo, Winwin. Taeyong and Jaehyun in intimate moments that Mark felt uncomfortable looking at still, even months later. Other pictures. Himself. Walking with the others from his syndicate in the streets of Ukraine. The sight brought back a nostalgia and a longing for the feeling of home and comfort, even in the face of danger.

But then, fear. Disgust. Uneasiness.

Mark pursed his lips and furrowed his brows as he looked over the pictures, regardless of how many times he and the syndicate had studied and analyzed them back in Ukraine. Mark recycled these pictures back to the folder, only to be met with more copied photographs. More intimate moments between Taeyong and Jaehyun. Intimate moments among them all, when their guards were down and they thought they could relax their shoulders for just a bit.

Mark still remembers the first time he saw Taeyong’s hand tremble with something other than fury. It had been brief--almost unnoticeable it happened so fast, and ceased almost immediately after it begun--but Mark had detected a slight tremor run through the boss’s fingers, seemingly down to the bones, as he looked at the photos of Jaehyun sleeping, bathing, eating. It had been terrifying for Taeyong. And if it had been terrifying for Taeyong, it had been near debilitating for Mark.

He and Lucas were not too far in age, but Mark had been the youngest of the highest ranks of the head of the underground syndicate. Maybe it was irony, or karma, or hypocrisy, but Mark had never felt so betrayed, so infiltrated in his life, despite what he did for a living. He was paid to do what had been done unto him, but his first betrayal had been hard-hitting.

He supposed maybe going rogue had been a betrayal to the European syndicate in itself, but if it protected the others, and maybe got them a little more intel on why they had been betrayed, or if it got them more recruits to fight back with, then Mark was glad to do it. He’d never been one to disappoint Taeyong, and he didn’t want to start now.

Mark put the photos away with subtly trembling hands, too sickened to look any further.

Placing the files back into the box, Mark took out the last thing he wanted to investigate for the day. The leather bound notebook. Syndicate culture did not often see many notebooks, if any at all, and especially not personal ones. The dangers of them falling into the wrong hands, cliché as it sounds, were great and, if they occurred, condemning. With just one notebook, everything everyone had worked so hard to build, everything _Taeyong_ had worked so hard to build, would all be damned to hell with little to be done about it.

So much for protecting the syndicate. Infiltration, by the time the photos had been delivered to them, was all but assured. Even now, Mark feels stupid about his naïvety.

The notebook, with its worn material and gentle white creases, gave a falsehood of comfort; of safety. Mark despised that, but he longed for it deep within himself. Upon opening it, the pages were blank, but the ragged remains of pages pulled out, scrapped, transferred, were prevalent. A hefty amount as well. But on the inside cover, was a dulled, yellow sticky note, as if it had changed many hands and smoothing fingers. It seemed to have lost its stick and someone--Johnny, Mark assumed by the handwriting--had resorted to keeping it adhesed with translucent scotch tape.

In messy scrawl: If trouble, call xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Mark licked his drying lips, and bit the inside of the cheek. He understood why it had been censored, and he knew well how to reveal the hidden numbers, but it worked the best but once, and there had been no trouble of a grand scale yet. It was not yet time.

As Mark reapplied the note to the inside, he hesitated. Then, in an executive decision, he plucked it back off the cover. Mark folded the tape over, so the sticky side was no longer ready for posting, and folded the paper itself into a small square, neatly. He lay it beside his thigh.

He closed the notebook and returned it to the box, but his fingers grazed a colder metal near the corner, that he had not initially seen. It was a watch. More notably, it was _Taeyong’s_ watch. Mark couldn’t help the pang of guilt as he realized that Taeyong, who had already been dealing with so much as the leader of the syndicate, would still go extra lengths to help Mark out just that much more. Taeyong loved this watch.

Mark quickly swiped his thumb over the face, the corner of his mouth twitching. With a heavy touch, there was a soft _click!_ and the face popped up ever so slightly. Now, Mark lay this next to his thigh, in exchange for the sticky note. He unfurled it, and ripped away at the pieces of excess paper. Once deeming it a more appropriate size, he folded it again, and was left with a long strip. This transformed to another, even smaller rectangle-square with a final turn of his fingers, and Mark, grabbing the watch from beside him, slid the face in a semicircle motion, and pushed the slip of paper into the provided hidden compartment that was revealed. Sliding it back, he made quick work to fasten it to his wrist. As he did so he noticed the time.

19:24.

So Mark reapplied the lid, and slid the box under his bed once more, surrounding it with leftover luggage that he had yet to unpack, and pushed himself to a standing position. Mark must have ruminated over the contents of the cardboard box much longer than he had originally thought, as his ass was stiff as he stretched upwards.

Making quick work towards the steps, socked feet rubbing hard against crusty carpet, he looked down at himself. Mark halted. He hadn’t changed in two days, and although his informant wouldn’t know that, Mark would. So he turned back to the peeling mahogany dresser, and rummaged around in the minimal clothes that Mark had began to unpack. Settling for a pair of baggy sweats and a white sweatshirt, he changed quickly and made his way back to the stairs, and descended with light footfalls.

Before Mark had boarded the plane to America, Johnny had called him on an old burner (it was most likely in the landfills by now) and told him he’d arrange a meeting with one of his close and trusted informants a few days after Mark touched down, so he could settle down, and so Taeyong could give him as much information as possible to be conveyed back to Mark.

Promptly after Mark had arrived in the States, he had reached out to Johnny on a new burner (he tossed this one as well, just to be safe) and he had been told that a meeting was set for 20:00 sharp only two days later, given specific directions to a certain address, and then forced to part ways.

After Johnny and him had hung up, Mark had immediately written down the directions on a sheet of paper that he plucked off of some generous passerby, and had stashed it in his luggage. Upon arriving at the apartment that first day, he transferred it, perfectly folded, onto the side table next to the door.

On Mark’s way out, from that table, he grabbed his set of keys and this paper, before sliding the latter into his pocket. He slipped his feet into his shoes, carefully, and pulled at the back lips when they curled beneath his heel.

The door made a sticky sound as Mark pushed against it, and a soft squelching sound as he closed it behind him. The short trek down the grate staircase had already begun to feel normal for him. Reaching the ground and glancing at his dirty red Carolla, Mark hesitated. He fingered at the peeling rubber of the top part of his car key, before shaking his head slightly. The fading sun was cool, but the breeze was warm, and Mark still had time before 20:00, so he opted to walk.

Without even referencing his directions, he vividly remembered Johnny stressing that the meeting place would be more than a few blocks away before any serious turns became necessary.

It had been two days, but Mark hadn't exactly had time to look around, what with having been tied up and beaten with baseball bats by a group of kids who couldn’t have been older than him and all. So as he strode down the streets, abiding casually to the pedestrian stop lights, with the occasional jaywalking, he committed himself to simply absorbing his surroundings. The fear of unfamiliarity never completely left, but Mark could almost forget about that if he pretended he was a regular teenager, on a coming-of-age adventure in sunny California. For once, he wanted to forget about Ukraine, not because he wanted to forget his syndicate, but because he missed them so desperately, it hurt less to think about them.

The graffiti was overwhelming; Mark couldn’t go without seeing it every other block. The buildings were tall and urban, a stark contrast to the old towering buildings in Ukraine. The sidewalk was normal, but there was something about it that allowed Mark to realize just how many people had tread on the same cement as he did then. Or maybe it was all in his head, and it was a feeling he had fabricated from the bustling vibe that ensconced the city, almost the polar opposite to the cold days with flurries and a scarce amount of people walking around freely back when he lived with the syndicate.

Today, people were constantly passing him, pushing ahead of him, trailing behind him. It conflicted Mark; in the syndicate it was best if people didn’t see you, and your cover would be assured by this fact. But there was a strange comfort, Mark found, in there being such a large population that so obviously, so physically, shared the ground he walked and the air he breathed.

Mark, stopped alone at a crosswalk with a red light, now plucked the sheet of paper from his pocket with nimble fingers, matching his current location with the minimal directions he was provided with. His eyes flicked up to the green street sign, down to the paper; his eyes flicked to the right, down, to the left, down.

Finally confident in his bearings, he abandoned the crosswalk, and hung a right and continued walking. The directions led him down another block, to the left, to the right, to the right again, and finally brought him down a darkening alley as the day lost the last of its sun. In the overarching streetlights positioned along the blocks, and the light from surrounding shops, he glanced at his watch: 19:56. He glanced at the directions: walk down the alley, the informant should be waiting at an old shipping port, behind an abandoned factory.

As he emerged from the thin alley and into the port, there were flickering street lights, obviously less attended to than the ones that lit the main walkways.

Glance at his watch: 19:58. He slid the paper back into his sweatpants.

He walked to the middle of the expanse of cement; there were fading parking lines, probably for the trucks that used to stay here. The sides of the factory were peeling white paint, revealing dull metal beneath like scattered bruising. Mark completed a quick stationary spin; the location was better hidden than he would have expected. Even so, Mark thought, how did Johnny know about this place? It wasn’t necessarily a well kept secret, but rather a “hidden in plain sight” type of situation, and wasn’t that easy to find.

“Mark?” a voice called out. The boy in question looked at his watch. 20:00. He appreciated the precision.

Mark spun casually to the origin of the voice; just slightly to the right of him. The factory curved around to a point that Mark couldn’t see around, but a thin figure made his way from this direction. Mark began to walk as well, and met him halfway.

Mark wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the informant was…much more innocent than he would’ve thought. His skin was clean and shined when the flickering light of the street lamp and the light polluted sky bounced off of his cheeks. Objectively, his face was tall; sharp cheekbones highlighted his sleek jawline, and vice versa. Dark hair tousled by the wind, unique nose structure, pointed chin. He was lean as well, but short, probably quite near Mark’s height, but nothing about his atmosphere convinced Mark that he was young.

“You’re one of Johnny’s?” Mark finally asked.

The man shook his head. “Rather, I work _with_ Johnny.” Mark noted his informality.

“Wait, are you--is Johnny younger than you?”

The man nodded, once, back. Mark felt his eyes widen and his brows lift in surprise, though he wasn’t sure why he was so caught up on this. Maybe because he’d never knew Johnny worked with elders, as ridiculous as that sounded. Johnny had always been a stable rock in his life, ever since they met when Mark had still been wandering on the streets of Korea, and was just _that_ guy. Mark could always trust him; he seemed like the ultimate elder.

“Mark,” Mark responded dumbly after buffering. “Though,” he remembered the first words the stranger had spoken to him. “I suppose you already knew that.”

The man relaxed (Mark didn’t even think he knew he had been stiff and tensing) and let himself smile. There was something owl-ish about his smile, but Mark couldn’t place his finger on any specifics. “Taeil,” he responded. “As much as I’d like to exchange pleasantries, we are still at a time when it may be best if we don’t speak for long.”

Mark, disappointed but unsurprised for the nth time in the short span of three days, nodded.

“So, the rundown is this,” Taeil began. “I know you were told that I’d be reporting indirectly from Taeyong,” Mark nodded again. “But truth is, we haven’t actually heard from him in a week.”

Mark was stunned, and no words dared leave his lips.

“I know you were close with him--Johnny told me--which is the only reason I’m actually telling this to you. Had it been anyone else, they would not be trusted with this information. But Taeyong trusts you, and we think it vital that you know.”

Taeil waited patiently as Mark processed information. His mouth, now dry, pulled apart almost painfully. “So, you’re telling me,” he started, words slow and infuriating, “that Taeyong hyung is missing?”

“I wouldn’t call it missing…” Taeil trailed off. “Maybe only half missing.”

Mark raised a brow and felt his head loll forward a bit in inquisition.

“Jaehyun said that Taeyong was following a lead. The problem is that he told Jaehyun he’d check in, especially in time for me to meet with you so he could relay to you anything he wanted and--”

“He hasn’t made any contact yet.”

Taeil nodded wordlessly. Mark hadn’t left until three days ago, but the turmoil within and surrounding the syndicate after they’d been betrayed had been great and dangerous for all members. Taeyong had actually sent him away prior to his departure from the Ukraine, rendering them unable to make contact for both their safeties.

“So, I’m sorry I don’t bring the best news, but you’re close enough to Taeyong to know that he’s strong. I’m extremely confident nothing of extreme distress has happened upon him, and, rather, he’s playing it safe because of everything that’s happened.”

Mark nodded again; it felt like it was all he could do. He had no words, and even if he did, he had not the strength to say them. He was sure that Taeil was right (in his heart he knew the same) but the guilt was near unbearable now. Mark had gone rogue, had caused such a mess in the Ukraine for Taeyong, and now he wasn’t--or couldn’t, Mark didn’t know which was worse--even contacting _Jaehyun_.

“I agree,” Mark finally choked out. “Thank you.” He bowed sincerely, and Taeil reciprocated.

“It is best that we part ways now,” Taeil advised. “But Johnny did say to contact him in a few days time. He gave no specific date, but he was sure that you’d choose a safe one.” Mark half-bowed in gratitude. “Since I have been in Los Angeles for a considerable amount of time now, I will most likely be in contact. Maybe not frequently, but I will try to be of help when it matters.”

“Thank you, really,” Mark said, and he meant it. He felt himself swell with gratitude even though, and no offense to Taeil, he couldn’t tell if it was because Taeil was an inherently trustworthy and generous ally (he was), or if he was just stumbling to grasp onto the nearest warm body for comfort. Despite his desire for a familiar face, Mark bowed, now as a signal of his departure. Taeil, again, bowed back, and without words, they turned and left the ways they had come.

\---

Mark couldn’t help but trudge his way back to his apartment; his feet, like his heart, felt heavy, like the soggy-heavy of a wet towel. The night sky and warm breeze no longer offered any consolation as he couldn’t keep his mind from picturing Taeyong with his fiery red hair, fierce eyebrows, but warm smile.

Mark was so caught up in his guilt, that he almost missed it this time. The city didn’t seem to sleep--especially seeing as how it was only 20:28--and the sound of sirens, or loud music, or racing cars was practically nonstop. As Mark retraced his steps (and then some; he had no strength to bring out the directions, nor did he want to go home just yet, but he had quite a severe deficit in sense of direction), he passed by more than a handful of alleyways. But as he approached a new one, directly across from a street lamp, the shadows of a group of people were active. Now, Mark usually wouldn’t be deterred or fazed, and would have kept walking, if it weren’t for the loud shouts and occasional grunts of pain. And then, a yell.

“Don’t _touch_ him!” a voice screeched in accented English. This may have been normal, but the voice cracked into a high frequency; there was no way that was anyone older than seventeen, and even that may have been a stretch.

Mark’s nosy legs seemed to move with a volition that didn’t match the rest of his body, but all the same, he found himself peering around the dull, brick corner of the alleyway walls.

Two beefy men each held onto the collars of two boys, both with blonde hair. Something about them seemed familiar, and as they continued to be jostled around, Mark caught glimpses of their faces.

It was the fucking kids from the abandoned factory. Yeah, the same ones that had beaten him into unconsciousness. And maybe it was because Mark had already decided he wanted to foster them, bring them back to Taeyong, or because the guilt of being unable to help Taeyong was transferred onto the next people he saw in need, but Mark felt his face grow hot with anger.

One man grabbed the kid by the neck, and slammed his back, hard, against the brick wall, leaving him spluttering as he slunk to the ground limply. The man, who had released his neck during the action, stumbled slightly, and Mark now understood that they were under the influence.

“Fucking let go of me!” the other boy cursed in Korean, still restrained by his collar; Mark remembered this to be Jisung. “Hyung!” he cried out.

“Speak English,” the man muttered impatiently. He lifted his arm, Jisung moving upwards with it. Mark’s nostrils flared, he rolled up his leaves, and marched around the corner.

“How about you pick on someone your own fucking size,” Mark growled in English.

“What’s it to you?” the one said, the same man that had thrown the other boy (Mark glanced down and his brain processed him to be Chenle; he may not be good with directions but he was great with faces).

“I just _really_ can’t fucking stand it when two overgrown _meatheads_ pick on literal fucking _children_ , just because they drank too much after their wife cheated on them.”

The two men’s ears burned red, and their mouths twitched. The one holding Jisung captive released his shirt. “You little shit!”

Mark was thankful for his training in Ukraine, or the size of the men may have frightened him. Instead, he used his smaller size to his advantage, and dropped to a crouch with his shoulder jutting outwards as one of the men charged at him. Mark hit him in the family jewels with his body, and he lost his balance, before toppling heavily to the ground. What was that saying again? Oh, yeah.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

“Get over here, you son of a bitch!” the remaining man roared. He too charged, albeit with more awareness, but he was slow. Mark sidestepped quickly, and elbowed him in the tender side of his stomach violently. It probably helped that they were drunk up the wazoo, but as they both regained their balance and wobbled towards him, Mark made quick work in hitting all the soft parts of the body he remembered at the moment (it was hard because they seemed to be vigorous body builders, and they had significantly less fat than the average opponent), and finally attacked their pressure points. Stunned, they stayed down, and Mark theorized that they’d drunk much more than he had initially thought.

No matter; less fighting for him.

He turned to the boys. While Mark had been taking down the two men, Jisung had migrated over to Chenle, who lay dazed on the ground, with a trickle of blood on his forehead. Shit. Head injuries were unpredictable, and could turn out to be a real big fucking problem. Mark took a deep breath.

“If I remember you, I hope that you remember me,” he said. Jisung looked at him with wary eyes, and fear in his body language. “You beat me with baseball bats, after all.” Still, no response.

“Listen,” Mark sighed with exasperation. “I don’t blame you for being doubtful and on guard against me. I’m a stranger. You have no idea what my intentions are. I can tell your hyungs are quite protective and cautious, so of course you will feel the same.” Jisung relaxed minutely, and Mark could tell he was getting through to him, even just a tiny it.

“Obviously, you don’t know who I am. And I’m willing to bet you don’t come from the best home lives, but I did really just save both your asses, and your friend has a head injury. I’m not a licensed doctor, but I’m probably more knowledgeable than any of your group members.” Jisung opened his cute, beak-like mouth to respond, but Mark cut him off. “ _Even_ the brainy one.” Jisung closed his mouth.

“Head injuries can be incredibly superficial, or incredibly dangerous. I just want to help. I’m alone, too. Just like you,” Mark’s voice fell just short of a whisper as he thought about Taeyong back home, or wherever he was at that moment. “And I may have an easier time carrying him,” Mark said, voice strong again, and nodded towards Chenle’s slumped form.

Jisung was on the edge, Mark could tell. “I only want to help you, and those guys won’t be very fun if you encounter them, _alone_ , when the alcohol is out of their system.”

Jisung finally gave in. “Fine,” he acquiesced.

Mark gave a lopsided grin, as he closed the distance between himself and the two boys. He quickly maneuvered Chenle onto his back, tossing him up a few centimeters to reposition the weight away from his shoulders. Chenle groaned lightly, and Jisung winced.

“I may be good at fighting, kid,” Mark said. “But I’m terrible at directions. You’re gonna have to lead the way back home.” Jisung nodded tightly, and he dragged his gaze away from the blood coagulating in Chenle’s blonde hair.

As Jisung carefully stepped around the bodies on the ground, Mark followed suit, prayed that he wouldn’t get attacked with bats this time, and tried his very best to keep from thinking about Taeyong.

“From what I can tell,” Mark began, controlling his breathing as the weight began to get to him. “You pissed those fellas off real bad. What’d you do?”

Jisung shrugged sheepishly. “I was just trying to teach Chenle to pickpocket.” Mark blinked. “He wasn’t very good at it.”

Mark rolled his shoulders, as Chenle’s head rolled against his neck. The blonde boy breathed heavily, though it sounded more like a snore, directly in his ear, jarring him. He could’ve sworn he felt a drop of spittle on his sweatshirt. If there was a stain there when he let this kid down...Mark didn’t even know.

“I think that might have been a bit of an understatement,” Mark murmured. “But okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is now 1.27 am for me and i very well might fail my chem test tmrw so fuck enjoy this while I cry
> 
> what happened in ukraine who knows hmm ;)))
> 
> find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com


	5. in the days to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Haechan,” a voice spoke up. Mark looked up to see it was Jaemin. “He did still save Chenle and Jisung. You know how grateful Renjun will be. Doesn’t he deserve a chance?” 
> 
> “What happened last time we gave someone a chance?” Haechan exploded. Everyone fell silent. “We know very well what happened. And we almost lost people because of it--we almost lost Renjun because of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not dead but i am (bc ap exams are coming up fdsijla fuck)
> 
> forgive me if this chapter is kinda boring, but i think the next one will be a little interesting (spoiler: we get to see who is who in their little gang ;))
> 
> thanks to everyone who reviewed or gave kudos it means a lot, omg

“We’re not a fucking shelter, you guys. So why is _he_ still here?” Haechan growled out, pinning Mark with a fiery glare. Mark, unruffled, blinked back. Haechan let out a frustrated huff and slammed a rotting wooden table illuminated by a low hanging lightbulb with his fist. The table, with visible damage from termites and the air and an innumerable amount of other natural sources, shed wood chips, which accumulated on the cold, cement of the factory.

The past half hour had been busy and tense; Mark had lumbered into an unfamiliar factory (the kids had apparently already changed locations since they last met) with a limp Chenle on his back. Jisung, who had led the way, entered first, and was initially met with greetings from the two kids that had been nearest to the door--Jeno and Haechan if Mark’s memory served him correctly--but as Mark tumbled in after him, all hell broke loose. Mark remembered Haechan letting out a surprised shriek, and already heading for the baseball bats, but Jisung reacted quickly and caught him by the wrist.

“Hyung! Chenle needs help. Not now,” Jisung pleaded. Haechan swallowed hard, and let his eyes flick to the small form tossed over Mark’s back and shoulders and pursed his lips as he swallowed his anger.

“Fucking fine,” Haechan relented. Jeno, meanwhile, had already made his way to an empty door frame and peeked through it. His movements were sure and calm, but his voice shook slightly and cracked near the end. “Renjun!” he called.

The panic in his voice surely gave away that there was a dire situation at hand, and Mark assumed Renjun understood the same thing as he came rushing into the opening room. His eyes scanned across the five people immediately and rapidly, until his gaze settled on Chenle, ripping a painful sounding gasp from his lungs.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, voice seemingly raised an octave. “Chenle!” he called. Rushing over, he didn’t even seem to notice Mark, despite the fact that he was the one carrying Chenle. He pulled at Chenle’s arm and muttered out words in neither Korean nor English--Mandarin?--and tried to pull him off Mark’s back. But Mark laid a soft palm on Renjun’s arm, and made eye contact; his eyes were unfocused and frantic.

“Let me,” Mark proposed. The glaze in Renjun’s eyes receded slightly, and he nodded reluctantly.

“Take him--” Renjun began; he took a deep gulp. “Take--he should lie down.”

Mark gave a soft downwards tip of his chin and fell intro stride behind Jeno as he led them to their makeshift bedroom, as Renjun wouldn’t even leave Chenle’s side to guide the way. He grasped the blonde’s hand desperately, and fiddled with his fingers mindlessly, while digging his own nails into his free palm.

Emerging through the doorway, there were a few dirty mattresses along the wall, and a few cots as well. Mark looked for the most comfortable looking one (it wasn’t easy) and laid Chenle down gently. Renjun immediately sat next to Chenle and began brushing the stray hairs from his eyes and poking at the dry blood which had crusted over on his forehead. “Jaemin!” Renjun called fearfully. Jaemin moved from another room, and appeared behind the group in the “bedroom”.

“Renjun?” Jaemin inquired carefully. “What’s wro--” his words were cut short as he finally caught a glimpse of what went on beyond the semi circle of people surrounding the mattress. With only momentary buffering, Jaemin confidently strode to the two boys on the mattress, and dropped to his knees so that he may be closer to inspect Chenle’s condition.

“Jisung!” Jaemin called out. His eyes never left Chenle’s forehead, though, and his furrowed brows demonstrated intense concentration as his thin, nimble fingers traced the hairline of the small boy, while avoiding the wound itself. Without waiting for any verbal affirmation from Jisung, Jaemin continued with his instruction. “Get me the first aid kit. Quickly.”

In his peripheral, Mark saw Jisung slip out of the room. He took a step forward. “If you’d allow me to--”

“Get away from him,” Jaemin snapped, turning around to glare at Mark. “Head injuries are incredibly delicate, and deceptively super--”

“--ficial,” Mark finished. “But from what I saw, it’s clearly a closed head injury; most likely a mild concussion. But he was dazed when I picked him up, and lost consciousness soon after, which isn’t a good sign.”

“Well, we aren’t in a position to give him professional medical attention, so we’re better off observing him for the time being,” Jaemin responded naturally, momentarily forgetting his previous hostility to Mark and adding input by reflex. He scratched at his temples impulsively. “I don’t see any clear fluid leaking from his nose or ears, which is a plus. We can’t be sure of a diagnosis until he wakes up, but how hard was he hit?” Jaemin turned back to Chenle, and brushed his thumb lightly across the wound hidden in the boy’s hair. His furrowed brows weren’t as angry anymore, as they were concerned.

Mark shook his head. “Shouldn’t be bad. Tossed up against a brick wall, but the blood seems to be slowed, if not stopped already. No signs of direct injury to the brain or inside of it. He’s so small that the velocity must have been too fast and powerful for his little body, but I’ve seen much worse.”

Jaemin nodded in agreement. Jisung reappeared with a standard first aid kit, the white plastic casing slightly dirtied and smudged. “Hyung,” he called out, handing it over to Jaemin who took it quickly.

“Thanks, Jisung.” Jaemin laid the kit on the ground below the mattress, before unbuckling it and flipping it open. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he started to weed through the various medical supplies. Basic necessities, but necessities nonetheless.  

Mark didn’t think Jaemin meant to articulate out loud, but his sharp ears caught words mumbled under his breath.

“What do I use first,” Jaemin muttered, still chewing on his lip.

“Clean the wound. It’s stopped bleeding,” Mark answered immediately; his occupation was quite difficult to do without at least basic medical and first aid knowledge, though Mark knew quite a lot, if he did say so himself. “Do you have any antiseptic in there?”

Jaemin looked up. The crease in his eyebrows had lessened, but was still present; he didn’t trust Mark. And Mark didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t either. But from what he could tell, Chenle was one of the most protected in the group (maybe one of the youngest), and he had faith that Jaemin would give in, too afraid that something may happen to Chenle if he didn’t perform first aid correctly.

Like Mark predicted, Jaemin sighed and nodded reluctantly. As Mark instructed, Jaemin worked. Renjun had not moved from Chenle’s side, and was gripping his hand tightly. He seemed to be constantly holding his breath, only to realize it a few moments later, and then he’d inhale and exhale deeply, and the cycle would repeat. As Jaemin worked, his shoulders got less and less tense. Maybe it was because there was someone else to talk him through medical aid, maybe it was because he was realizing that Mark would not attack him, at least not then. Mark found this reassuring; he was making progress (hopefully).

Once they had done as much as they could with the supplies that they possessed, Jaemin had finished bandaging the wound, and quite well at that. He rubbed his temple, and then using the edge of his hand, along the side the pinky was on, he outlined Chenle’s face gently, and then flicked a stray hair out of place. Renjun--maybe he didn’t even realize he did so--smiled; the first real response Mark had seen since he had brought Chenle in.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and heads turned in their direction, even Renjun. Haechan lifted a brow, and nodded his head towards the doorway, arms crossed. Everyone seemed to understand, and they began to file out until Mark, Haechan, and Renjun were last in the room.

Renjun looked concerned as he and Haechan made eye contact. For the first time (though Mark supposed he’d only seen him twice, but considering their first meeting ended with Mark getting knocked out via baseball bat, the situation seemed slightly surreal) Haechan smiled warmly at Renjun, reassuring him. Renjun let out a breath of relief and, smiling back, laced his fingers together with Chenle. His eyes drifted over the Mark, and his smile widened, corners of his eyes crinkling with the gesture.

Haechan turned to Mark, and his smile was already gone. “You. Follow me.”

Mark flashed a quick smile back at Renjun, despite Haechan’s low growl. As Mark complied and fell into stride behind the other boy as he led the way out of the room, he heard Renjun begin to hum.

\---

So here they were, sat around a table in a drawn out stare-down. The table was only so big, but with Renjun and Chenle back in the other room, everyone was just able to fit. Haechan, who was directly across from Mark, had been silent for the past five minutes, and the tension in the air was near palpable.

Finally, Haechan looked at each and every one of his members. “We’re not a fucking shelter, you guys,” he hissed at them. Jisung, especially, held his head low. When none of them responded he continued, now making eye contact with Mark again. “So why is _he_ still here?”

Jisung finally perked up. “Hyung, can you at least give him a chance to speak? Did you not see that he _saved_ Chenle and me?”

Haechan sent him a glare. “Jisung, I’m only doing what’s best for us--”

“No, you’re only doing what’s best for you! You always--”

“Jisung,” Jaemin warned. Jisung looked over, and became guilty.

“Hyung, I’m sorry,” Jisung said, turning back to Haechan. “But--”

Haechan held up a hand, and Jisung trailed off. Haechan pulled his eyes away from Mark, and focused on his friends at the table, completely ignoring the fact that Mark was still even there. “I know that it may seem that I’m only acting out of self-interest sometimes, but you know well that Renjun can’t handle all the stress of trying to keep us safe all the time. You’ve seen what it’s done to him.” Jisung’s gaze dropped. Everyone else seemed to hold their breaths. Mark had no idea what to think of this.  
  
“He tries too hard,” Haechan forced out, his voice dropping to a pained whisper momentarily, before normalizing again. “And sometimes he trusts too easily for his own good. We all know that, even him. Which is why he trusts me to make some hard decisions. And I’m telling you,” Haechan stopped, finally acknowledging Mark again. His stare hardened, like a steel wall. “He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Haechan,” a voice spoke up. Mark looked up to see it was Jaemin. “He did still save Chenle and Jisung. You know how grateful Renjun will be. Doesn’t he deserve a chance?”

“What happened last time we gave someone a chance?” Haechan exploded. Everyone fell silent. “We know very well what happened. And we almost lost people because of it--we almost lost _Renjun_ because of it.”

“Haechan,” a soft voice called out. Everyone’s heads turned to the doorway, to see Renjun standing there, with one hand rubbing at his opposite arm awkwardly. “That was my fault, and you know it.”

“Renjun, _no_. I’ve told you before, it was his fau--”

“Please, Donghyuck,” Renjun begged helplessly. It seemed like Haechan had the breath stolen from his lungs.

“Okay,” Haechan (Donghyuck?) relented. Renjun walked towards the table, and Jeno was already out of his seat before the other boy was there. Renjun nodded, amused, but smiled gratefully nonetheless.

“Thank you, Jeno,” he murmured. Sitting down, he picked at his fingernails. Realizing what he was doing, he smiled sheepishly and hid them under the table. He looked at Mark, and Mark felt strangely warm and nervous.

“Mark,” Renjun began. Mark was almost surprised that he remembered his name, although it hadn’t been long since they last exchanged the information. “Thank you for saving Jisung and Chenle. Chenle is...I can’t function without him.”

The others smiled affectionately.

“I don’t know what happened, but I am more than willing to listen to the story, if you don’t mind telling.”

Mark shrugged and nibbled the inside of his cheek before he gathered the words he wanted to say. “There isn't that much to it. I went for a walk, and overheard a tussle in the alley. I was going to intervene even before I realized who it was. The perps were drunk off their asses, but they were much too large for it to be a fair fight, especially against kids. The boy, Chenle, was thrown into a wall before I could jump in.”

Haechan looked to Jisung for confirmation, and he nodded. Renjun didn’t break eye contact with Mark, but smiled anyway. He seemed to believe Mark even without Jisung’s confirmation. Mark really couldn’t tell with this one.

“This one here,” Mark said, gesturing to Jisung, “tried to convince me to let him haul ass back here alone, but I have sufficient medical knowledge, and I knew, as does this one,” he nodded towards Jaemin now, “that head wounds could be particularly tricky.”

Jaemin agreed. “It only seems like a minor concussion,” he informed the group. Renjun sighed lightly.

“Thank you,” Renjun repeated. “I hope you’ll forgive our manners, but when you live like we do, any stranger is an enemy.”

Mark, amused, shrugged. “I understand that much more than you think.”

Renjun’s smile dropped, and the mood turned serious. “But, really, what do you want from us? We returned you back to your apartment, and moved locations, but you still somehow managed to reconnect with us.”

“I…” Mark began. “I really, truly, and sincerely mean no harm. I’m alone here, and I don’t have many to trust or keep me company. I want to befriend you, I want to help you. For no reason other than my loneliness.” It wasn’t a lie. Mark couldn’t help but feel protective of these kids. Did they remind him of himself? Is that why? He wanted to protect them like Johnny had done for him all those years ago.

“Mark,” Renjun asserted, spine straightening. Mark reflexively perked up, and he took notice of the rest of the group doing so as well. He had been certain that Haechan was the leader, but the way the latter swallowed and widened his eyes to focus on Renjun as much as possible conveyed another story. Mark didn’t know which was correct.

“If you’ll excuse us all for a moment,” Renjun finished. He gave a curt nod and flashed a quick smile, before turning on his heel and marching into the next room over. Wordlessly, the others followed him.

For the minutes that they conversed, he only ever heard one voice clearly: Haechan’s. And his tone was not kind.

“They picked him up off the streets! Like some stray fucking cat!” he said one time. “You know what cats can have? Rabies. Disease.”

Someone was quick to hush him.

Another time: “Last time we trusted a stranger, Renjun almost died! Do you not remember that?” he had begged desperately. “I’m not--” his voice broke, an unexpected amount of emotion pouring from a person Mark had only felt rays of hatred. “I’m not willing to let that happen again. I _won’t_.”

They continued to talk for a while after that, so Mark took to swallowing his surroundings. A storm had begun to brew outside, so the small holes in the roof and walls let in pockets of violent wind that swayed the hanging lights, and tampering with their ancient wiring, made them flicker a few times.

The cement was dark, but the factory was ill-lit, so it could have just been the time of night. There were two visible door frames, both missing actual doors, and a thin staircase leading to an upstairs that Mark couldn’t see from his position on the first floor.

The howl of the wind outside seemed to travel through the rust pipes and tiny holes, creating an eerie melody of airy whistles, and Mark was transported into the pit of his memories.

The night had been cold, colder than usual, and Mark, the homeless little kid that he was, had few places to turn. There were no clinics nearby, and he had an awful cough; he was much too sick to be given a place in a holding cell as it required too much effort from his frail body to do anything worthy of arrest. With no other options, he took to cowering behind a large, smelly dumpster in an alley, wrapping his thin sweater over as much of his body as he could. The wind picked up, and the rain began. The dumpster provided some barrier from him and the wind, but the rain beat down on his body--into his skull--drenching him from the inside out.

He began to shiver with a fiercity he had not known until then, before a shadow covered him. With considerable effort, Mark peeled his sticky eyelids open to see a tall, lean man looking down at him, sharing his umbrella and giving a brief rest from the seemingly relentless weather.

“W-who are you?” Mark had stuttered out, the chill not allowing any solid sentences.

“My name is Johnny. I’m not here to hurt you,” the man said when Mark found the strength to narrow his eyes in suspicion. “I know you’ve suffered, kid. I'll protect you. I won’t abandon you like everyone else did.”  
  
Maybe it was the prolonged amount of time on the streets, or the debilitating cold that had made a home in his skeleton, or the constant self-dependence, but Mark felt his heart flutter and his eyes began to water. Rain droplets streaked his face already, though, and he was slightly glad that this stranger had not yet seen what he had done to him.

The man, Johnny, held out his hand, with a warm, fatherly smile. Mark, teeth chattering, hair matted down, eyes red and swollen from sickness, took that hand, and upon feeling its warmth and comfort, never wanted to let go.

“Mark?” a voice called out, jarring the boy from his thoughts. Renjun stood at the front of the pack, warm smile returned. “We talked it over and--”

“I was outvoted,” Haechan interrupted bitterly. Mark’s gaze traveled to him; dark eyebrows set in anger, lips curled in frustration. Despite the obvious negative fashion in which the boy viewed Mark, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat fond.

Renjun raised an eyebrow and threw Haechan a glare. Mark had yet to see something, let alone _someone_ , shut the boy up in that way, but Renjun seemed to be full of surprises.

“ _We talked it over_ and we decided that we will give you a chance,” Renjun reiterated. “If you couldn’t tell, Chenle is like a little brother to me. Jisung is like a little brother to Jaemin. We all care about everyone like they’re our blood, and I am beyond grateful for what you did for them. What you did for me, as well.” Mark felt his heart skip a beat before speeding up. He was getting his hopes up, and he might regret it later, but in the moment he couldn’t care less.

“ _But_ ,” Renjun continued. “We can’t share everything with you, and we won’t hesitate to take action if you betray us.”

Mark nodded in comprehension; he faced worse threats back in the Ukraine.

“Since the weather is being a bitch tonight,” Jaemin added. “You can spend the night.”

“I wouldn’t try any funny business, though. Don’t think you won’t be being monitored,” Jeno growled.

Mark smiled. “I wouldn’t expect any less,” he said gratefully. They looked taken aback by his response, and he suppressed a laugh. “I’m thankful for this chance, and I’m ready to show you that I meant what I said.”

“Well,” Renjun said, clearing his throat to try and fix the awkward atmosphere. “I need to check on Chenle. Everyone should probably get some sleep.” He turned to Jeno. “Show Mark to his bed for tonight?”

Jeno, who Mark had only ever seen with a grimace or a scowl on his face,  _smiled_. Mark should start calling it the Renjun Effect. “No problem, Junnie,” he replied. The corners of his lips dropped as soon as he made eye contact with Mark again.

As Jeno motioned silently for Mark to follow him, the rest of the group dispersed. In his peripheral, Mark saw Jaemin ruffle Jisung’s hair, although the angle was slightly strange due to the blonde’s unnatural height. They giggled nonetheless. Renjun put a comforting hand on the shoulder of a sulking Haechan, before leading them through the doorway to where Chenle was resting.

Mark turned back to Jeno as they approached the steps; Jeno held a hand out to the side of him, signaling his intentions to let Mark ascend first. Mark nodded in thanks and climbed. The stairway was thin, so it would only work one person after the other; Jeno was close behind.

Once they reached the top, Mark looked around at the space he could not before. There wasn’t much there--not that he expected there to be; if the kids had moved locations so quickly, he assumed that their first activity was not to decorate their temporary living spaces as they were just that: temporary--but it was objectively large with, at least, four other doorways to enter and explore, let alone what rooms they connected to further.

Jeno pushed ahead to take the lead, and guided him to the farthest room on the right. Upon entering, he sidestepped to the left slightly to flick on a dim, standing light (all their lights were low and weak but he was pleasantly surprised with how many light sources they had regardless) before turning to look Mark in the eyes, his broad shoulders and back hiding the rest of the room.

“Renjun and Jaemin can’t sleep in the far rooms, so you’re stuck here. If you don’t like it,” Jeno pursed his lips. “Too bad.”

Then he was gone.

With Jeno gone, Mark was able to look at the contents of the room, though there wasn't much to look at. The lack of light finally got to him; and he felt his lids become heavier by the second. There was a tall window in this room, looking towards the city, as this factory was just a few hundred yards away from the bustling nightlife. The darkness surprised him; how long had he been there?

The lightweight watch now apparent to Mark (he had forgotten all about it, truthfully), he peeked down at it. 23:24. Almost four hours had passed without Mark realizing it.

A wave of guilt washed over Mark’s body, and he trudged to the dirty mattress in the middle of the room, flush to the brick wall. He took notice of the blankets beside it, but ignored them and collapsed heavily onto the mattress, prickly springs pressing uncomfortable against his body. He ignored these too, and instead curled into the single, flat pillow provided to him.

He drifted off to sleep with images of Taeyong’s fiery, red hair and blinding, white smile haunting his mind. The touch of his hands on Mark’s head, fingers ruffling his hair, his arm pressed against Mark’s.

He missed Taeyong. Did Taeyong miss him, Mark wondered. Was Taeyong in a position to even be thinking about him?

Was Taeyong even alive?

Mark repressed a shudder, and let sleep take him in a last ditch attempt to forget his fear and sadness for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm emo, basically, and i love my kids so fucking much it was fun putting in that little bit about Johnny ;)
> 
> also @ mark: bitch i MISS TAEYONG TOO but there is something else planned for him...
> 
> desperately hoping this doesn't suck as much as i think it does; sorry to put u all through that also she's actually kinda short but i didn't wanna make too much lull
> 
> find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com


	6. will become a big regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Some days we just con people out of necessities or steal them, but other days, we steal money to buy stuff. It’s been a while since we enacted a plan thirteen, which is why we decided it was safe enough to do it today.” 
> 
> Mark nodded in comprehension; it was a pretty sound plan, actually. They were organized, and it’s probably helped them get by in the way they have for so long. They were smart. They were resourceful. Mark could use that to his benefit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm sorry this took so long, and that it may not be the most exciting, but i actually mapped out a chart of what i wanna accomplish in each of the chapters (although they are subject to change) and i think this is gonna be at the least, like 20 chapters long ??? and oh boy things get spICy
> 
> also i’m sorry it took so long to update djslsnskd i had been going to bed p early (for me at least) cuz i was tryin to be healthier ??? i guess ??? but i finally sat down (for like 2 hours tonight) and finished this chapter which i had started, so if it’s not the best...just chalk it up to my inability to write well !!!!!

As Mark began to stir, he felt a burning warmth on his face. Opening his eyes just to close them immediately after as sunlight angled into his sight, he realized that the sting of the sun’s warmth as it shone high in the sky was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a while. Ukraine was cold and cloudy this time of year, and he remained still, eyes closed but awake, to soak it in. A smile began to claw its way to the surface, and he inhaled deeply.

Finally leaning into a sitting position, Mark peels his eyes open, sticky with sleep muck, and peers around the room. The unfamiliarity gives him a slight startle, until the events of the night prior come rushing back to him.

His legs, though, feel heavier than they did when he went to bed, and he looks down to see the blanket that he was sure was laid next to the mattress--still folded as he fell asleep--sprawled across his torso and bottom half.

Before he could dwell too long on the phenomenon of the Moving Blanket, he felt a presence appear at the door and, looking up, saw it to be Jisung in all his awkward height.

“Ah,” Jisung said, a smile spreading on his face as he saw Mark sitting up. “You’re already awake, thank God. The hyungs sent me to wake you up, but now I don’t have to.”

Mark felt his heart warm a bit at Jisung’s innocent smile. Despite his tall height, he was still just a boy.

“The hyungs wanna talk with you, so just come down when you’re ready.” Jisung turned to leave, but Mark called out to stop him.

“Wait!” Jisung turned back around, his eyebrows raising inquisitively. “I’m ready now. Walk down with me.” Jisung gave a small nod and smiled widely.

“Sure, hyung!”

It had been a long time since Mark had heard someone call him that. He was the youngest in the immediate circle of higher-ups in the syndicate, but even then he’d had youngers below him that looked up to him like a brother. And before he had lived on the streets...let’s just say it wasn’t the first time someone called him “hyung”, but it had been quite a while since he last heard it. Mark halted in his motions, his arm raised midair as he had been flipping the blanket off his legs. Jisung made a small, surprised noise, and his expression became concerned (Mark saw this out of his peripheral, as his gaze had frozen as well).

“Is everything alright?” Jisung asked. He nibbled his upper lip subtly. “Do you not want--I didn’t know--I don’t have to call you ‘hyung’. Just tell me what to--”

“No,” Mark whispered. The room filled with a tense silence and Mark resumed in his action of throwing the blanket off his legs, before using his palms to push off against the hard mattress and into a standing position. He saw Jisung’s shoulders tense up as Mark walked towards him, and his heart felt even warmer. He broke into a grin, and slung a comfortable arm around Jisung’s broad shoulders. He felt them loosen up hesitantly.

“I just...it’s been a while,” Mark admitted. “Since someone called me that.” Jisung seemed to still feel awkward as he bit his lip again and refused to make eye contact with Mark.

“Hey,” Mark said. Jisung forced himself to lift his head up and look Mark in the face. “Don’t worry. I missed hearing it.”

Jisung, finally seemingly appeased, let out sight of relief disguised as a childish chuckle. “That’s good then.” He cocked his head and scrunched his eyebrows momentarily, before breaking out of whatever trance he was in and resumed beaming at Mark. “Hyung.”

Mark laughed and shook his head. “Come on, kid. You said the others wanted to talk to me?”  
  
Jisung, suddenly solemn, nodded once, curtly. “Mm. Seemed kinda serious.”

Mark felt something heavy land on his heart, but kept his tone light for Jisung’s sake. “Then we better not keep them waiting any longer.”

\---

Jisung and Mark walked into an argument. They descended the stairs, not trying in any way to be quiet--they were quite loud, in fact, what with all the creaking, and the stomping, and the shifting--but the two boys embattled in said argument were too caught up with their own situation to notice until they were standing right in front of them.

Naturally, it was Renjun and Haechan that were arguing.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Renjun?” Haechan spit out, his hands flying wildly around him as if their rapid movement would somehow get Renjun to listen to him. “I won’t let you get close to that kind of danger again! Doesn’t this situation feel too familiar for you? It’s just too similar to how the whole _Sejun_ problem happened!”

“Mark is _different_ from Sejun! That’s what I’m _telling_ you!” Renjun fought back desperately. Mark could tell he was still trying to keep his voice level slightly hushed, but his adrenaline made him forget, and he would switch from loud talking to shaky, but controlled, whispering.

Haechan on the other hand...Haechan didn’t seem like one to care. “The fact that there even _is_ a Sejun problem shows that, _maybe_ , Renjun, you’re not the best fucking judge of character! You know that I love and respect you--all the kids do--but you’re too... _soft_ sometimes. You trust too easily. You know that. You _told_ me that.”

Renjun closed his eyes hard and took a deep breath. “I know. You’re right, Donghyuck.” There was that name again, Mark noticed. “But there’s something...Mark is...it’s a different situation, okay? I don’t know why, I don’t know _how_ , but you need to give him a chance! Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking for, Donghyuck.”

 _“Fuck_ chances, Renjun! Last time--”

Jisung coughed loudly, and the two, finally snapped out of their little bubble of anger, looked at the younger like two deers in the headlights of an oncoming car. Haechan flared his nostrils, while Renjun flushed pink. They both straightened their backs, and, despite their seemingly harsh words, waddled closer to each other subconsciously.

They had relied on each other for a long time, and they weren’t used to being far away from each other, Mark noted.

“You’re up!” Renjun called out cheerily. He flashed Mark a big smile, and it only just occurred to the latter that Renjun’s mood seemed much different from last night. More put together, organized, more mature, almost. It was something he had noticed in Renjun a lot. The drastic change in mood and decisions, Mark meant.

“Took you long enough,” Haechan muttered. Renjun elbowed him hard in the ribs, but the other boy didn’t even seem to flinch.

“As cheery as ever, I see,” Mark headbutted. Renjun smirked.

“Do you really wanna start this?” Haechan growled. His fists clenched and Mark almost felt ready to fight, ready to put this ill-mannered boy in his place, but Renjun stopped both of them. He put a gentle palm around Haechan’s fist and fixed Mark with a pleading smile.

There was something about Renjun. It was that Renjun Effect. He was able to diffuse situations in a way Mark couldn’t necessarily understand. Not yet.

“Anyway,” Renjun drawled out. He dragged Haechan, who was still glaring at Mark fiercely, towards the table and sat him down, almost like a mother and a child who was in the midst of a tantrum. “Please,” Renjun continued. “Sit.”

Mark and Jisung started forward and sat next to each other. They faced Haechan and Renjun directly.

“Call the others in,” Renjun mumbled, elbowing Haechan again. The latter’s mouth twitched, but he complied.

“Everyone!” he called out, voice echoing loud and strong throughout the empty walls of the warehouse. “Meeting! Now!”

There were no immediate windows in the big and, what seemed to be, main room, so the dim light was all that they had, for now.

Quickly and efficiently, everyone filed in, including Chenle, which surprised Mark.

Apparently, it surprised the others as well.

“Chenle hyung!” Jisung called out, concerned, just as Renjun scolded with a soft voice “Chenle!”

Chenle grinned toothily, and his eyes melted into happy slits.

Jaemin and Jeno, who had filed in after Chenle just seconds later, also gave noises and looks of disapproval.

Jaemin rushed to Chenle’s side, and grabbed at his arm gently. “Chenle, you shouldn’t be up and around just yet. I haven’t had proper time to observe your condition.”

“But Haechan hyung said we were having a meeting--” Chenle attempted to argue.

“Well you’re a dumbass for thinking that it included you. Go lay back down again,” Haechan instructed. His words were harsh, but his tone was soft. 

Chenle made a disgruntled noise and pouted childishly. “I don’t want to. Just let me sit in.”

Jaemin and Haechan looked to Renjun for his input. The latter nodded reluctantly, and Chenle chirped happily, like a dolphin hopping around with its dolphin buddies.

Once they were all settled (Jeno gave his seat up for Chenle), the mood became heavier, as they all became serious.

“Now that we have a new addition,” Renjun began.

“However unwelcome he may be,” Haechan jabbed. Renjun ignored him and continued, but from Haechan’s little jump, Mark thinks Renjun may have pinched him.

“And seeing as how we’re gonna need new supplies to replace the things we used last night anyway, I thought it best to do that today, and to bring Mark along. So he can see how things are run around here.” Haechan looked unhappy, but, for once, said nothing. “As much as I’d like to stay back and look after Chenle,” Renjun turned to Haechan and glared at him, raising an eyebrow like a disappointed parent. “I feel that it is best I’d tag along, especially since it was my executive proposition to accept Mark into the group. And Jaemin is our designated doctor, so there isn’t much I can do that he can’t do better.”

Jaemin pursed his lips, and for a brief moment, looked like he wanted to argue, but swallowed this and nodded. Renjun smiled at him thankfully.

“I think we’re gonna do a regular snag and grab, so we’re gonna need Jeno and Jisung for this anyway, so Jaemin is the most logical person to stay back today,” Haechan picked up. He looked at the two aforementioned boys who nodded their consent and understanding. “Number thirteen,” he specified.

Mark, caught up in a whirlwind of code words he didn’t understand, looked to Renjun for any clarifications he could offer. Renjun just shook his head and mouthed, _You’ll see_.

“We leave in ten, so be ready in seven,” Haechan announced. “Meeting adjourned.”

Immediately, Jaemin was on his feet and at Chenle’s side, and helping him out of the chair. Mark, too caught up in watching this unfold, didn’t realize Renjun was talking to him until Jisung poked him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mark said, shifting his focus to Renjun who was standing across from him, chair kicked back, arms leaning on the table, fingers pointed outwards.

Renjun smiled. “I said that I had something to give you. Follow me, will you?”

Mark nodded and fell into stride behind Renjun as he lead them towards and up the stairs again. Sparing a quick glance behind him, he watched as Jisung chased after Jaemin and Chenle, and as Jeno and Haechan moved closer to each other, both standing, at the table and talking under their breaths.

Turning back around to look at Renjun’s back, they continued until they were at the top of the steps and then stepped into the closest room on the left side.

Renjun’s room was quite similar to his own, but it had two windows instead of one. One that was tall and skinny, and another that was in the middle of the wall height-wise, and a small rectangle. From there came in hot sunlight that was lacking in the room on the first floor. The mattress was made, as if it was a real bed, and there seemed to be two blankets on top of it: one thick and red, the other, beneath, thinner and purple. Mark could infer that they were probably stolen, seeing as how they were completely clashing colors.

“Not that you’re interested,” Renjun spoke up. Mark’s head perked up and he focused on Renjun’s face instead of the room. The boy walked over to the tall window and looked down, almost dreamily. “But Jaemin and I can’t sleep far away from the steps. When we were at the orphanage,” Renjun trailed off, his eyes turning stormy, and backed away from the window like it had offended him somehow.

He looked to Mark, and seemed to snap out of the trance he was in, or the backflash he was plagued by. “Nevermind. I guess this is me just apologizing for giving you a room so far away.”

Mark shook his head quickly. “It’s really no problem at all.” Mark knew not to pry, but he was intrigued by whatever happened at the orphanage, and hoped he’d find out at some point before he had to go back to Ukraine.

“Anyway, since we don’t have enough time to stop at your apartment for clothes, I thought you might wanna borrow some of mine?” Renjun suggested politely, shyly rubbing at his elbow and averting eye contact. Cute.

“Thank you very much, Renjun.” Mark put all the effort he could muster up in conveying his genuine gratitude, in hopes of making Renjun feel accomplished and comfortable. Luckily, he finally made eye contact with Mark and smiled brightly, cheeks rosy and high like a little cherub.

Mark decided to keep his sweatpants and exchanged his sweatshirt for a long sleeved graphic tee. As he changed, he watched Renjun swipe a dark lump of fabric from his bag of clothes.

“Don’t worry about your hoodie,” Renjun assured. “When it’s laundry day we can get it washed. Or,” Renjun’s face fell slightly, despite attempts to hide it. “I suppose you could just wash it at your apartment.”

“It’s not that important. It can wait.”

Renjun gave a weak grin in return and then started out of the room. “We should probably get going,” he explained. “There’s still a little more planning to do before we head out.”

Mark followed. “Yeah, speaking of that.” He did a mini jog to catch up with Renjun as they began down the stairs once again. “What’s going on? Like, what are we doing?”

“Some days we just con people out of necessities or steal them, but other days, we steal money to buy stuff. It’s been a while since we enacted a plan thirteen, which is why we decided it was safe enough to do it today.” He looked back at Mark, almost to gauge his reaction at the mention of theft and con, but Mark remained impassive. It wasn’t the first time he witnessed it, or even participated in it. “After today, we’ll have to wait a month or two before we do it again. We’ve figured out that mixing up plans makes it less likely to be recognized or to get caught.”

Mark nodded in comprehension; it was a pretty sound plan, actually. They were organized, and it’s probably helped them get by in the way they have for so long. They were smart. They were resourceful. Mark could use that to his benefit.

Once they reached the bottom, he saw that Jisung and Jeno were now leaning over the dimly lit table along with Haechan, deep in discussion.

“Hey,” Renjun called out as they approached. Jeno looked up, and Renjun tossed the lump of fabric he had grabbed from his room earlier. Jeno opened it up, and it became clear that it was a black beanie with crudely cut-out eye holes; a homemade ski mask. He nodded in thanks.

“Okay,” Haechan continued. Now that they were closer, Mark could see they had a messy, yet somehow organized, map scribbled in various pen colors of alleyways, streets, and major buildings throughout the city. Haechan pointed at some corner, a few hundred yards away from a long, hidden alleyway.

“Jeno, I want you to stake out a target from here, and then once you have the purse, run,” he dragged his pointer finger along the street to the alleyway, “to here. And Jisung, you’ll be here. Once you have the money, wait a few seconds and then come out. Got it? No different from our other runs.”

Jeno and Jisung both nodded and then locked eyes with each other, as if they were communicating through eye contact, which they very well may have been.

“Are we all ready to go?” Haechan asked, although it sounded quite accusatory as he glared straight at Mark. They all nodded. Mark held his ground, glared back, and gave a single, curt nod.

“Alrighty, then!” Renjun interrupted, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get going, then! I want to be back before the sun sets.”

Renjun gestured for everyone to go before him, as he disappeared into the next room over, most likely to say his farewells to Jaemin and Chenle who were staying back. He reappeared a minute later.

Walking out into the early afternoon sunlight, Mark felt as if it had been weeks since he last felt sun on his skin, even though it had been less than a day. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of this kind of sun, since when he got back to Ukraine, the days would be cold and dreary again, due to the time of the year.

After ten minutes of walking in silence, they approached the corner they had mapped out, which was surprisingly farther than it seemed on said map. Jeno, who had been leading the group, turned around and winked at everybody, before letting himself be caught up in the flow of people walking in the opposite direction.

“Spread out,” Haechan instructed in a whisper. Jisung waited a few seconds before forging ahead against the current of people, while Haechan disappeared off to the side. Renjun tugged on Mark’s hand, and led them towards the nearest crosswalk.

“Wanna finally explain a little better what’s going on?” Mark asked.

The two boys and a large group of people had been stopped by the pedestrian traffic light, which glared angry red. Renjun chuckled. “Haechan and I are kinda like...co-leaders, I guess you could say,” he began. Mark spared a quick glance to the side and he saw Haechan slowly creeping along the building side of the street, between the corner and the alleyway.

“Jeno is,” Renjun trailed off as the light turned green, and Mark was nudged forward. They walked at a crawling pace. “Jeno is kinda the brawn of the group,” he continued with a fond laugh. “And our scout. He’s good at sneaking and he’s good at climbing.”

The traffic light began to count down. Renjun and Mark were only in the middle of the crosswalk, but people flowed steadily past them. “Jisung is probably one of the best pickpocketers you’ll meet. Though you won’t know he’s snatched anything until he’s long gone.” Finally reaching the other side, Renjun pulled Mark to the side, where they leaned against a shady building nonchalantly.

“And Chenle and Jaemin?” Mark pressed.

“Chenle is real good a breaking into places, even with the most obscure supplies. And Jaemin is…” Renjun smiled fondly without meaning to. His eyes took on a dreamy glaze again. “Jaemin is a little bit of everything. He’s like, the brains of the entire operation. If he took a legit, fortified IQ test, I think he might qualify as a genius, although not many of us are all that educated either. He just knows a lot of things.”

Mark nodded as he digested the information. “Sounds like you’ve got quite a system there.”

Renjun opened his mouth to speak, but a high pitched shriek stopped him in his tracks. “It’s happening,” he breathed out. He said no more.

Mark looked to the street straight across from them, to see a group of people had stopped in a big congested clump, like a tumor in the middle of the sidewalk. A woman was in near hysterics, and Mark caught a glimpse of a lean, but built figure sprinting past everything, purse in hand. A few men began to chase after him, but the boy had a significant head start.

“Did I forget to mention,” Mark whipped his head to look at Renjun as he spoke. The latter had a wide grin, almost a smirk, on his face as his eyes followed the sprinting figure. “That Jeno was one _hell_ of a runner?”

Mark looked back to the scene they had caused, but Jeno was nowhere in sight, and he assumed he had made it to the alleyway safely. A few seconds later, Jisung came jogging down the street, faking heavy breathing as he rushed into the pit of the chaos. Mark could just see him between the bodies of other people; he was holding the same purse (from the flash of brown that Mark saw, he assumed it was the same one) and gave a big, childish smile to everyone watching. The kind of smile that you couldn’t doubt, that you’d never doubt coming from such a cute, angelic face. His lips moved, but as they were separated by a street and passing cars, Mark couldn’t hear anything.

Jisung delivered the purse back to a very grateful looking woman, and gave a wave as he walked away. He stumbled, over what Mark couldn’t tell, and a nearby man reached out to catch him. Jisung offered another knee-weakening smile and grabbed at the man’s coat to help him up. Then he was around the corner and gone. Haechan began to slink along the walls of buildings, face darkened by the shadows of tall architecture, and disappeared as well.

Mark took a step forward in the direction of the crosswalk they had just come off of, but Renjun held out an arm to stop him. He shook his head. “Follow me,” he whispered.

Mark obeyed. The two weaved around the people--now that the chaos was over, the tumor was gone--and people continued on with their day. They walked a whole street over, which could have been a little excessive, but they were better safe than sorry, Mark supposed.

Twenty minutes later, and everyone except for Jeno had all met up in front of a Starbucks. Only two minutes later, and a figure was jogging towards them. Jeno had shed his sweatshirt, and it was now tied around his waist. The ski mask was hidden away.

“Success?” Renjun asked.

Jeno and Jisung looked at each other, and then at Renjun, and smirked. Jeno pulled out a wad of money from his front pocket, and Jisung pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it up, a few twentys, one fifty, and a few singles. So the tripping was just a ploy to get close to someone's wallet. Very impressive.

Haechan grinned proudly. “Great job, you two,” he laughed. He ruffled Jisung’s hair, and grinned at Renjun, but completely ignored Mark’s presence.

“So now,” Renjun started, grabbing onto Mark’s hand (Haechan’s face darkened as he saw this), “we replace what we need to.”

Jeno looked around at all of them. “Let’s go shopping, then, shall we?”

\---

Just half an hour later, the group of five found themselves at a general store purposefully in the opposite direction of their current place of occupation. They had picked up a basket, and were in the medical section, refilling the supplies they had used for Chenle the other night. They moved to food next, mostly grabbing non perishables and items in bulk.

They were in and out; as little people should see them as possible and very little of them should be caught on camera. Mark was pleasantly surprised with their awareness and work ethic. As they started back towards the register, Renjun got caught up at a rotating rack of sunglasses. He playfully picked up a pair of grayish-purple tinted glasses, each lens shaped like an oval, and put them on. He peeked in the mirror quickly, and cocked his head in thought.

“They look good on you,” Jeno called out with a fond smile. He was holding the basket, and was only half turned around.

“You think?” Renjun asked shyly. He looked to Haechan for further confirmation, who nodded silently, but genuinely, with a smile on his face that made him glow with an aura of friendliness and warmth. But as he noticed Mark analyzing him, his facial expression dropped and he turned away.

Renjun smiled happily and took the glasses off. He ripped the tag off in one yank, and pocketed them in his loose sweatpants. They continued on, checking out with no problems.

Once they emerged from the store, plastic bags in hands, an empty-handed Renjun pulled the glasses out, peeled the sticker off, and put them on. He looked at everybody for input.

“They fit you real well,” Mark commented. Renjun beamed softly.

“It’s getting late,” Haechan interrupted brusquely. Renjun nodded and skipped ahead into stride with him, grabbing at his hand and pulling on the grocery bag. Haechan immediately relaxed; he became a completely different person. He jokingly tugged back, and Renjun pouted. Before they could play much longer, Renjun accidentally bumped shoulder with a lanky, slouching teenager; much taller than any of them, but skinny as a twig.

Renjun bowed automatically, and chirped out an apology in Korean, before realizing the teen most probably did not speak Korean, and said, genuinely, “I’m sorry,” in English.

He turned around, and they thought that would be the end, but the boy put a crushing hand on Renjun’s shoulder; Mark could tell from the way the fabric wrinkled and the wince in Renjun’s face that it was tight and heavy.

“How about you watch where you’re fucking going, queer,” the boy spit out, hair in tight cornrows despite his white pallor. The overwhelming scent of pot was everywhere.

“I said I was sorry,” Renjun glared back. The boy’s buddy who had kept walking approached them. He plucked the glasses from Renjun’s nose harshly, one of the sides poking him in the eye as they left his face.

“Hey,” Haechan warned in a heavy accent, further emphasized by his thick tongue.

“Hey, what, you fucking pansy?” the friend taunted, as he put the glasses on. He hit his friend on the shoulder to get his attention. “How do I look?”

“Fuckin’ gay,” the boy teased. They laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Mark dropped his grocery bags as lightly as he could, and shoved his way in front of Renjun and Haechan. The latter seemed like he was going to protest, until he heard Mark’s fluent English.

“How about you ‘fuckin’ gays’ give me those sunglasses before I have to bruise my knuckles for the third time this week? How’s that sound?” Mark growled.

“You think we’re scared of you?” the boy hissed. The friend threw the sunglasses back at Renjun--who was still rubbing at his eye--a metallic clink from his earrings connected with the side of the glasses sounding.

“I think you should be,” Mark replied.

“Yeah, fuck that,” the friend began. He turned as if he was gonna let it go, before turning back abruptly and swinging. But Mark wasn’t dumb, and these kids weren’t smart. His stance had given his move away; his body turned but his feet stayed planted and his hips were facing Mark directly. 

Despite the height difference, Mark had more strength and more experience in fighting than some random kids from the hood. He caught the fist midair, and twisted it quickly. The friend yelped in pain, and Mark pushed him away in preparation for the other boy.

Cornrows bared his teeth, revealing a golden grill, and came after him. His moves were weak and wobbly, most likely from the marijuana they were smoking, and Mark dodged easily. He kicked in the back of his knees, bringing him to the ground. He stepped on his head--hard enough to hurt and keep him immobile, soft enough that he wasn’t causing and major internal damage--and dug his heel into his ear.

The friend finally managed to stumble to his feet, but took in the situation in front of him like the pussy he was. “I wouldn’t even fucking try,” Mark warned. Earrings visibly gulped and nodded. Mark sighed heavily and took his foot off Cornrow’s head. The boy scrambled to his feet, and looked at Mark with pure hatred in his eyes, but his friend tugged him away.

“You got off fucking easy,” Cornrows yelled after him, before they broke into a run down the street.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mark mumbled. He walked back to the grocery bags and picked them up. When he looked at the rest of his party, they were all staring at him, slightly dumbstruck (except for Haechan who wouldn’t even look in his direction).

“Damn, man,” Jeno finally said, breaking the silence, and erupting into a grin. “You’re really a fuckin’ enigma, aren’t you?”

Mark shrugged and smiled back. “Let’s just say,” he bit his lip. “I had a lot of fighting experience back in Ukraine.”

“I’m sure glad you’re on our side,” Jeno laughed, his eyes turning into crescents, something he had only seen Renjun accomplish in the past few days. He guessed he could count this as a win, Mark thought.

“The sun is setting,” Haechan announced tertly. “Let’s get back so we can feed everybody.”

Jeno playfully rolled his eyes behind Haechan’s back, and stuttered his steps so he could walk next to Mark. As they continued back, Jeno began asking for fighting pointers, which Mark happily complied with in telling him. Jisung walked next to Jeno and looked at Mark with a sparkle in his eyes, and Renjun spared a few glances behind him from his spot next to Haechan, his eyes glimmering along with his smile.

The only person who never looked back or acknowledged him, was Haechan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's like a few easter eggs in here...well more like,,,foreshadowing easter eggs ???? i have plans that i'm building up to, maybe you can spot them ;)))
> 
> to whoever comments, just know that it really does make my day and makes me heart all warm and soft !!! and a big big fuckin thank you to people who have been following, supporting, and commenting on my story consistently !!! i love seeing regulars ! but even if you're new to my story, i love reading comments !!
> 
> i'm always looking for new friends (i have none) so hmu on tumblr !!
> 
> find me @ http://kimhwayung.tumblr.com (personal/not v active) or @ https://hwayvng.tumblr.com (preferred/more active)


	7. we're trapped inside, losing what's real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaemin’s willowy form was shaking subtly, and his hair was disheveled like he had just rolled out of bed. He was wearing a thin, white t-shirt, the first time he had seen the boy wearing something that was not long sleeved, Mark realized. Jaemin has always appeared stoic, and calculated, and scarily intelligent, so to see him in this hunched over shape, crippled by his vulnerability, was something Mark did not expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first and foremost: trigger warning ! for implied/referenced self-harm. i personally don't think it's that heavy/graphic, but be careful nonetheless ! 
> 
> also another disclaimer, idk rlly abt self-harm so i genuinely&sincerely apologize if anyone is offended by my portrayal, it’s a facet of grief/ptsd that i am associating with what jaemin has gone through, but bc i have limited knowledge/experience i hope you can forgive me if i mistakenly portrayed it in a way that was offensive/overly inaccurate 
> 
> also i'm sorry it took so long, i've been wanting to write but i got tired and then i got sick and a lot happened at school and even now it's almost 3 in the fucking morning and i have to be up @6 for school fuck 
> 
> not sure if i actually like this chapter, but this is the closest ur gonna get to super domestic in this fic (not that it doesn't exist !! the dreamies are still soft bbs !!)

“Did you hurt yourself earlier?” Mark asked, panicking unintentionally.

They had arrived back to the warehouse not too long ago, but, as the others were putting their newly acquired supplies away and the unused money somewhere else for safekeeping, Mark approached Renjun who was leaning against the table. It seemed like a while ago, but the welt from Renjun’s healing, split lip was still apparent and fresh, though Mark had stopped noticing it for a while. And Mark didn’t even have to see the state of Renjun’s bare torso to know the bruise was still there and angry from the taser burn; he had personal experience.

But upon taking a thorough scan of Renjun’s body, Mark’s eyes were drawn to a large, dark patch on his right hand, that looked purple-ish-blue, and quite a lot like a big bruise. Renjun raised his eyebrows in surprise, and traced Mark’s line of sight to the back of his hand. As he realized what the other was referencing, he chuckled wholeheartedly. For a prolonged second, he inspected it attentively.

“It’s a mole!” Renjun answered finally, his eyes curling into happy rainbow-like shapes.

Mark released the building tension in his forearms, and let out a sigh of relief. Then he burst into a smile. “Of course it is,” he breathed, playfully. He leaned against the table next to Renjun; Renjun by now had escalated to sitting on the tabletop, and as he shimmied around to get comfortable, wood chippings rained down viciously. But, Mark supposed, Renjun was light enough that nothing bad would happen.

“Been there as long as I can remember.”

“It’s okay,” a new voice chipped in. The two looked up to see Jaemin emerge from the doorway to the adjoining room in which Chenle was resting, and he approached them with a wary smile, but bright eyes. He walked straight to Renjun’s side--where Mark wasn’t--and started playing with the former’s long, thin fingers. “Everyone thought the same the first time we saw it,” Jaemin continued, drawing Mark’s attention away from Renjun’s hands to Jaemin. “I think it still catches some of us by surprise sometimes.”  

Mark smiled half-heartedly, his senses reacting to Jaemin’s shielded demeanor.

Renjun grinned at the two, and hopped off the table, graceful except for the flurry of wood chips that poured onto the floor. “I’m gonna check on Chenle,” he announced, giving a quick wave before disappearing through the door Jaemin had just emerged from.

With Jaemin and Mark alone in the big room, too far away to hear any low murmurs exchanged between Renjun and Chenle and whoever else was in there, they were forced to make awkward eye contact. Mark was soft-spoken and quite shy, considering the circumstances of what he did for a living. So if Jaemin was shutting him out, he didn’t feel adequately prepared to try and break through his walls. At least not tonight.

“Well,” Mark started. He gave a tight nod and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Jaemin called out, grabbing out to wrap his hand around Mark’s forearm. Mark halted, and let himself be guided back, so that he was face to face with the other. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Mark wet his lips, and nodded, slow. “Shoot.”

“Listen,” Jaemin began, taking a deep breath. “I’m...grateful--so grateful--for what you did for Jisung and Chenle. Renjun would’ve...it would not have been good if something seriously bad happened to Chenle. And Jisung...Jisung is like the little brother I never had, so I owe you for what you did.” Mark blinked, waiting for him to finish. “But,” Jaemin continued. Mark was unsurprised. “I like to think that I repaid that debt already. I helped to convince the others, save for Renjun who was already adamantly on your side, to give you a chance. I like to believe that I don’t owe you anything, because in all honesty, I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame you. And I have no problems calling it even between us,” Mark replied coolly, his voice stable and relaxed, despite any uncomfort he truly felt.

Jaemin seemed taken aback, and he blinked rapidly a few times, as if it would somehow snap him out of whatever alternate dimension he thought he was in. “I appreciate that,” he drawled out uncertainly, his full brows knitting together into suspicious arches all the while. “I’ll be real,” he scratched his pointer finger nail along his thumb lightly. “This is not the response I was expecting, but it makes this whole transaction a whole lot easier. I have no reason to trust you, and until you give me one, I would barely consider us acquaintances. Are we clear?”

Mark nodded, honestly tired with the whole ordeal and the discomfort he was feeling. Of course he didn’t want to be at odds with any of the others, but pushing himself onto someone as intelligently driven as Jaemin, would be like pushing against a brick wall. He knew the type; people so smart that they over analyze the situation and overthink the microexpressions. And they did not respond well to opposition or dynamic change, so it would be best to enter territory and relations with Jaemin slowly, but surely.

“Good,” Jaemin replied hesitantly. He eyed Mark with caution, before giving a short bow, and excusing himself.

Mark let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and felt his eye twitch upon noticing a different presence in the room. After completing a quick scan, he found Jisung looking at him from halfway down the stairs.

“Hey, Jisung,” Mark called out, nonchalant.

Jisung gave a weak smile, and quickly pranced down the steps. He nibbled at his lip for a while once he had reached Mark’s location, as he was debating his next words wisely, it seemed.

“Jaemin-hyung…” he began. “Don’t take Jaemin-hyung too seriously. He’s been through a lot. The orphanage was especially hard for him,” Jisung confessed, looking up to Mark with wide, doe eyes. Mark pursed his lips.

“I understand,” Mark said finally, and nothing else. He had learned that prying was never the right option for people who had closed themselves off emotionally and mentally, and would only make situations worse. They had to open up to Mark first.

There was a short period of silence. “He--” judging by his reaction, it didn’t seem like Jisung expected himself to say anything more than Mark did. “His parents were killed in a bank robbery gone wrong. Together, they had five siblings. His parents, I mean. None of them would take Jaemin-hyung. Not one single relative.”

Mark winced inwardly. He understand that feeling, that frustration. “This is stuff that I shouldn’t be telling you,” Jisung sighed regretfully. “I didn’t like the way Jaemin-hyung treated you, but I thought that you should know that there _is_ a valid reason for it so you wouldn’t, like, hate him or anything.” Jisung, nervous, began to use his large hands for further expression of his point, and Mark shook his head fondly, before reaching out to grab his wrists gently, pulling them towards him so that they were outstretched in the middle, and shook them slightly.

“Jisung,” he affirmed. “I don’t hate him. If anything, he reminds me a bit of myself.” Jisung raised his eyebrows in silent inquisition, curiosity peaked.

The best place to start was with himself to create a sense of trust, right? If he could get the youngest to trust him, maybe the older kids would pick up on it, Mark figured.

“Wanna hear the story?” Mark asked. Jisung nodded impatiently. Mark chuckled, and guided Jisung over the table, sitting them both down, and finally releasing his hold on the younger’s arms.

“I’ll just give you an abridged version, but my dad wasn’t a good person. He beat my family; me and my mom especially. He was awful, but when I was about ten, he died from an overdose. But before that, he beat my mother to death,” Mark explained. (It was far from the whole story, but Mark didn’t feel like nor did he trust the kids enough to recount his whole, awful childhood). Jisung’s eyes widened, and his little lips moved in a circle while his nose scrunched slightly, like a nervous tick.

“A man who I now consider a very close hyung of mine picked me up off the streets, because none of my relatives would take me in, and I had escaped out of all my orphanages. I would’ve died if that person hadn’t taken me in. He gave me shelter, and a family, and I’m eternally grateful to him.”

Jisung nodded, his shoulders drooping. Mark had chosen a seat that faced away from the staircase, and Jisung was too distracted to notice, but Mark’s hair ends raised slightly as he sensed a new body walking silently down the stairs. He continued deliberately.

“So that’s my sob story, but maybe a more beneficial point to make was that it took me a while to warm up to that person. After he had nursed me back to health, like the dumbass kid I was, I tried to escape a few times,” Mark chuckled again. “I never made it too far, though. And I’m glad I didn’t.”  
  
Jisung, who still held his head low, looked up slowly as Mark laid a hand over his. “But it took me almost a _year_ until I finally began to let him in. Jaemin is completely valid in his actions, and I don’t blame him. How could I, when I was the same exact way?”

Jisung, seemingly appeased, smiled at Mark.

“Good talk,” Mark summarized, patting the side of the blonde’s knee lightly.

“Hyung?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you...not tell Jaemin-hyung that I talked about him without his permission?”

Mark’s lips formed a smile without him even realizing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Loudly, someone cleared their throat from a few feet away. Jisung looked up with surprise, before letting his face fall to a grimace. “What, Haechan-hyung?”

Mark chuckled silently as he turned around in his chair at the harsh words and sudden mood change. Haechan’s eyes were closed, and he was making exaggerated sputtering noises, before he opened his eyes and zeroed in on Jisung’s face (completely ignoring Mark, like fucking always).

“I can’t believe you’d attack me like this, and to _think_! I was coming down to _feed_ your ungrateful, bratty ass!” Haechan called out lightly, with a smirk on your face. Jisung simply rolled his eyes.

“Like I care. I’m cute, you’d never starve me.”

“Never say never, little baby Jisung.”

Jisung glared at Haechan, who responded with a teasing peace sign, before scurrying into the next room over.

“Come on, hyung,” Jisung sighed out in exasperation. Mark, stunned by the side of Haechan he had never seen before, nodded dumbly, and let himself be dragged by Jisung to the adjoining room.

†††

They decided on pizza, and from what Mark could tell, it was not a regular occurence.

“Pizza?” Chenle chirped out happily. He was lying on the mattress still, with Jisung snuggled close by his side, as he had immediately jumped at the chance once him and Mark had entered the room. Everyone was there (Mark didn’t know when Jeno walked in, but he was there, nonetheless, with his arm wrapped around Renjun’s shoulders) and they were standing in a lumpy semi-circle next to the two boys on the mattress. Jisung smiled back at Chenle, and the two intertwined their fingers as they bounced up and down, making the old mattress shake and the rusty springs sing.

“Are you sure, Haechan?” Jeno confirmed, seemingly surprised himself.

“We made more than enough money to grab a few slices at that shop two blocks east from here, and it’s close to that one laundromat. Renjun, didn’t you say we needed to do some laundry anyway?” Haechan asked. Renjun nodded silently, his head falling against the crook of Jeno’s neck.

“I guess it’s could be a little celebratory dinner for our newest addition, too!” Jeno called out with a smile on his face, pushing Mark lightly with the ends of his fingertips, as his arm was still occupied. “Isn’t that right, Mark!”

“Hey!” Renjun called out, looking to Jeno incredulously. “That’s disrespectful!”

“Wait, why?” Jeno’s eye smile had disappeared, replaced with genuine confusion. Mark would admit: he wasn’t necessarily sure why it was disrespectful either.

“He’s your elder!” Renjun answered like it was painfully obvious. Mark had been told on one occasion that he looked younger than he really was, so he wasn’t all that surprised.  

“Ah...ah, really?” Jeno confirmed, alarmed.

Mark looked to Renjun with wide eyes. “You two are the same age?”

“Me, Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan actually.”

“Ah, I see,” Mark hummed.

“I’m sorry, hyung!” Jeno added quickly, disentangling himself from Renjun and giving a panicked bow.

“Oh, shit, no!” Mark assured. “You didn’t know! I’m not that much of an asshole!”

“Can we get going, everybody?” Haechan interrupted coldly. Renjun shot him a disapproving look, which only gained a shrug in response.

“Jaemin, help Chenle please,” Renjun instructed. “Jisung, collect all the laundry.” The only complaint was Jisung’s little pout as he stood, eyes lingering on Chenle, like he didn’t want to leave his side. “And Jeno, come help me grab some money.”

As everyone began working on their own tasks, Mark caught Haechan’s gaze boring into him aggressively.

“Can I help you?” Mark spit out. He knew that he shouldn’t be on the bad side of any of the group, especially if he wanted in, but Haechan seemed to know just how to piss Mark off.

“Don’t expect me to call you ‘hyung’,” Haechan growled out, before turning on his heel and storming out.

“I would never,” Mark grumbled back. Without sparing any glances behind him to see whatever judgemental glare Jaemin was surely giving him, he glided out behind Haechan.

Once he was in the main room again, he saw that Jeno and Renjun had already returned, and Renjun was wearing the sunglasses he had snagged earlier, despite the setting sun.

“You gonna wear those even when there’s no natural light source to hide from?” Mark teased.

Renjun pouted back. “It’s all about the _look_ , hyung.” Jeno caught Mark’s gaze, and the two shook their heads playfully. “Don’t double team me, you bastards!” They all shared a giggle.

Save for Haechan, of course. But that should go without saying at this point. Mark had thought he reminded him of himself, but he infuriated Mark too much. And maybe Mark was infuriating too, but the lack of manners put him in a bad mood.

A few minutes later, and everyone was up and ready to leave. Chenle, especially, seemed excited to be going out, though Mark couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been bedridden for too long or because he wanted pizza. Maybe it was both.

“Are we all ready to leave?” Jeno asked. Nods from everyone.

“Why don’t you let me hold that, Jisung,” Mark offered, holding his hand out to reach for the big trash bag that Jisung had dragging behind him.

“Ah, no, hyung, it’s okay,” Jisung replied, awkwardly, tightening his hold on the plastic, red pull strap, which he had circled around his hand.

“It’s okay, I insist.” Mark hooked a finger around the strap.

“Ah, hyung--”

“He said he insisted,” Haechan spoke up, voice loud and strong. Mark looked up to see Haechan with his brows raised in annoyance, and his mouth shifting, like he was moving his tongue around impatiently (he probably was). “Give it to him, and let’s go.”

Jisung gave a hesitant nod, and unwrapped the strap from his hand. If he was fazed by Haechan’s harsh tone, he didn’t show it.

Mark switched reins silently, before heaving it over his shoulder. Haechan’s scowl lingered on him a few seconds longer than normal, before he spun and began to lead the way out of the warehouse.

It didn’t take too long to get to the pizza place, and it was a nice walk there. The sun was setting, and the sky was a layer of warm hues. Red on top of orange on top of gold on top of a sliver of blue that remained from daytime. The temperature was comfortably balmy, with a gentle, cooling breeze that made its way through Mark’s hair easily.

The shop seemed vacant as they approached; no customers were seen in any of the greasy booths upon opening the door, an out-of-tune bell signaling their arrival.

“We’re closing up for the day! Sorry for the--” a deep voice began from behind the counter. A head popped up seconds later to accompany the voice, and a large, built body followed after. The man was balding, with a grey mustache and beard. His apron was remarkably dirty with flour and grease stains, and he was roughly wiping at his hands with an almost equally dirty white cloth.

“Renjun!” the man called out heartily, a smile spreading on his lips.

“Joey!” Renjun responded cheerily, in English. “Sorry to come so late.”

“Oh, no!” Joey insisted, throwing the cloth aside and ducking underneath the counter to greet their group. “I’m always open for ya!” A hearty chuckle.

“I really appreciate that. Really.”

“It’s no problem at all! No problem at all! And I like your glasses!” He did a quick scan. “Who’s your friend here?” he asked as his eyes settled on Mark. He lumbered forwards and bent over slightly to look Mark in the eyes. “Haven’t seen him before tonight.”

“He’s a new friend that we made,” Renjun commented.

“Mark,” Mark responded, holding his unoccupied hand out. Joey took it hastily, and gave it a few rough shakes.

“I thought Jeno was the tough guy of your group!” Joey teased, pointing to the garbage bag tossed over Mark’s shoulder with a pudgy finger. “I’m Joey! Nice to meet ya, boy!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Mark replied, offering a polite smile in return.

“Sit, kids, sit!” Joey insisted. “What can I fix ya up with tonight?”

Renjun eyed the rest of the kids. “One large plain pie?”

“Ya got it!”

Jisung tugged on Chenle’s shirt before whispering into his ear. Chenle nodded eagerly and turned to tug on Renjun’s shirt in turn. Renjun shook his head fondly, before adding another order. “And one large pepperoni pizza, too.”

“Coming right up! Why doncha grab a few drinks and pick a booth while you’re waitin’?”

“Thanks, Joe!” Haechan called out.

“Mmhmm!” he singsonged back.

The group of seven shuffled to the booth closest to the door and filed in. Mark was last, sat next to Jeno, and let the bag finally drop to the ground. He rolled his shoulders a few times to stretch it; even for a bag of clothes, it was heavy if you held it long enough.

Jaemin had derailed while they sat to grab a liter bottle of coke, and a few cups normally used for fountain drinks, before setting them all at the center of the table as he slid in across from Mark. He began to roll up his sleeves before he glanced at Mark, and rolled them back down. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and propped his chin up on his palms. His eyes took on a dreamy vibe, and Mark followed his line of sight to see that he was staring at Renjun, who sat two down from Mark, and was currently tucking Chenle’s hair behind his ear.

“So is our Lele feeling any better?” Haechan asked, his voice taking on a lighter and more playful tone than Mark had ever heard (well, he hadn’t heard it since he was talking to Jisung earlier). When he was cold and hard, his voice reflected that. But when he was teasing and joking around, it got a little harder to take seriously due to his seemingly thick tongue. His pronunciation didn’t suffer, but his unique voice was a surprise. The drawl that he had when he spoke was cute; it matched his face when he was happy and comfortable. It was so innocent, it could almost make Mark forget how awfully he treated him on a direct basis.

“I’ve been feeling better all day, but you decided to lock me up with Jaemin-hyung instead,” Chenle protested. “He always dotes on Jisung, but because Jisung wasn’t _there_ , he projected onto me.”

“I don’t _dote_ on Jisung--” Jaemin started. He was silenced as the boys’ chatter came to an immediate halt, and they fixed him with a tired, but knowing, look, and Jaemin spluttered.

“Okay, I dote on Jisung,” Jaemin relented. “But can you blame me?” He reached across Haechan to reach Jisung, and grabbed his cheeks, pulling them farther than you’d expect them to stretch. Jisung gave Jaemin a disgusted look, lips instinctively scrunching up and eyes narrowing. “Ah, cute!”

“Don’t worry, Chenle, you’re cute, too,” Renjun reassured.

“You ain’t gotta tell me, I already know,” Chenle replied, earning a big laugh from the group, even from Haechan, though it was smaller and more incredulous. He was a completely different person when he smiled, let alone laughed.

His face seemed younger, not as hardened by time or anger, and his irises were softer, no longer a dark, unforgiving gravel color, but a soft cocoa brown. And then Mark just had to think of him when he wasn’t this docile, and he would lose the feeling of his heart getting softer.

Ah, much better.

“Chenle!” Haechan interrupted, pulling at Chenle’s sleeve. “You’re cute, but not cuter than me.” Haechan grinned proudly, and the older kids smiled fondly.

“Really?” Chenle responded. “Because last time I checked, you looked like a pillow that was squashed after someone slept on it.” He raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.

Haechan laid a hand over his heart, a feigned hurt, looking at the table’s guests distrustfully. “I think you meant they were sleeping on my looks. Thanks for your compliment!” The others broke out into a loud fit of laughter at his witty comeback. “It’s okay, Chenle, you’re from China, so language barriers are common. It’s okay, I understood what you meant.”

Chenle tried to maintain his disgusted facial expression, but couldn’t hold it, and let out a high-pitched, trilling giggle. Haechan let a slow smile spread across his face.

They went continued with their lighthearted chatter, of which Mark stayed respectfully quiet. The others likely noticed, but Renjun was the only one who bothered to bring him into conversation.

“So, Mark,” he initiated. “You said you from where? Ukraine?”

“Yeah, tell us about that,” Jeno supported. “We haven’t been anywhere since we landed in the orphanage.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Mark lied. “I’m an orphan myself.” Not a lie. “I ended up in Ukraine because a friend introduced me to his group, and now we’re kinda a big, dysfunctional family.” Half lie.

“So why are you here?” Haechan drilled.

“ _Haechan_ ,” Renjun began to scold.

“No, it’s alright,” Mark interrupted. “You guys took me in, and I’m grateful. You deserve to know.” They nodded in anticipation. “You deserve to know, but I can’t tell you everything,” he admitted. “What I can tell you, is that there’s a lot of unrest back home. My friend’s work is kinda...going under at the moment, if you will. Someone betrayed him, so his company’s in a mess trying to figure shit out.” Similar, but not exactly the truth. He couldn’t just up and tell him he was a ruthless mob member that killed people for a living, especially not if he wanted to get in their good graces.

Before he could be questioned further, Joey arrived, a tray of pizza balanced on either arm. “Dinner is served!” he boomed.

The group erupted into cheers and hollers, Chenle’s signature dolphin laugh shining through. “Thanks, Joey!” Renjun said in smooth English.

Mark was thankful for a whole other reason; he was thankful that the others were too distracted to pry any further into his past, lest Mark reveal something he best not.

†††

Once they had finished pizza, they decided to divide and conquer. The younger boys were beginning to move sluggishly, tired from full stomachs and the latening hours, so Renjun advised Haechan and Jaemin to bring them back home, while Mark and Jeno accompanied Renjun to the laundromat.

Once they had separated, Renjun nudged Mark on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about the others,” he suggested with a soft voice and a shy smile peeking through. “They can be infuriating and assholes sometimes, but they’ll come around.”

Mark deliberated for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t blame them,” he said finally. Jeno and Renjun looked at him with confusion. “I’ve been in similar positions before, so I can’t blame them for their actions. Especially for someone as calculated as Jaemin and someone as...possessive as Haechan.”

Renjun nodded gratefully. “Thank you for understanding.”

Another few minutes passed, and the atmosphere was still light. Now that he was with the two people who didn’t hate him all that much, he decided to take a chance.

“So, Renjun,” Mark began. “Why do you call Haechan ‘Donghyuck’ sometimes?” Jeno and Renjun exchanged a conscious and wary look. “If you don’t want to say, or if I’m overstepping my boundaries, feel free to stay silent.”

“No! It’s okay,” Renjun insisted. “It’s...we don’t know why, but after we left the orphanage, he said that that’s what he wanted us to call him. It’s kinda like a street name, or maybe an alter-ego, but I always liked ‘Donghyuck’ better. And when we’re arguing, sometimes it comes out without me meaning to.”

“Why after the orphanage?”

Renjun fell silent. “The orphanage is something we aren’t yet comfortable sharing with you,” Jeno answered in place of the other.

Mark nodded patiently. “Of course,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun whispered genuinely. “It’s just...we have trouble even talking about it _ourselves_ let alone with someone else. And you’re so new still and--”

“Say no more,” Mark assured. “We all have our own demons. God knows I do, too.”

The talking dimmed for the last few minutes that it took to get to the laundromat, it’s last neon letter flickering spastically.

“You can wait here,” Renjun said, taking the bag from Mark’s hands and dragging it in alone. He adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and pushed the door open.

Jeno leaned against the brick wall in between the laundromat and a cigar shop, and closed his eyes as he let the breeze wash over him. Mark took to digging his sneaker toe into a cracked, hole in the cement, pebbles scraping the ground sadly.

Renjun could’ve only been inside for five minutes before he emerged again, his head turned still to someone inside, and his voice singing out a “Thanks, Grandma!” in Korean, nonetheless. Turning back to the two other boys, he flashed a grin. “All set!”

“We don’t have to pay because Renjun is such a sweet talker,” Jeno filled in, eyes curling into his signature eye smile, and his mouth doing the same. He was proud, and he slung a muscular arm over Renjun’s delicate looking shoulders. Renjun rolled his eyes affectionately, fixing his sunglasses that had been jostled in the action.

“I’m just nice to her. I helped her cross the street and bring her groceries in a few times.”

Jeno shook his head. “That, too, I guess. But, hyung,” he asserted. “Renjun just has this _way_ with people. It’s probably because he’s so innocent looking and kind, but he knows how to charm people into getting what he needs. It’s amazing.”

“Stop, Jeno, it’s nothing major,” Renjun vowed.

“It is, Junnie! You keep our group _together_. You and Haechan. We’d be lost without you.”

Renjun shook his head, but blushed anyway. “Come on,” he chuckled, swinging his own arm around Mark. This was significantly more difficult due to Renjun’s shorter stature, but he was persistent, so Mark complied with a smile, bringing his arm over Renjun’s shoulder, on top of Jeno’s, and the three made their way home comfortably, the night sky’s stars (or at least what light polluted Los Angeles could offer them) twinkling overhead.

†††

Once the three arrived home, they could immediately tell that the others were probably fast asleep. They didn’t have many strong light sources, but the darkness that they walked into was different; it was more still. The silence radiated throughout the whole warehouse, as if the building itself was sleeping.

“Guess we better head in, too,” Jeno said once they had closed the door successfully. Luckily, the others had left the light in the main room on, probably because they knew they were coming back.

“Sleep tight!” Renjun whisper-shouted happily. “And Mark-hyung, remember to sleep with your blanket on this time! You could get sick!” he chided softly.

“That was you?” Mark confirmed, remembering the Moving Blanket from earlier that morning (had it really only been a day?). Renjun shrugged sheepishly. “Thank you.” Mark meant it.

“No need, hyung. Just promise me you’ll use it?”

“Promise.”

“That’s all I need, then. Good night!”

The three exchanged a chorus of ‘good night’s before making their way up the stairs. Jeno and Renjun were significantly less loud when considering their footfalls on the creaky staircase, and Mark realized it was probably because they knew internally where the steps made the least amount of noise.

They bid another silent greeting as Renjun and Jeno ducked into the first two rooms on the right, respectively, and as Mark made his way to the end of the hallway. As he was about to duck into his own room, he was distracted by whispers coming from the room across from him.

His curiosity getting the best of him, he tiptoed over and peered his head in and around the corner. A single light next to the mattress was on, a yellowish light gleaming down in a thin ray. The sight that met him was a surprise, to say the least.

There was a single mattress, identical to the ones in Mark’s room and downstairs, but the surprise came in the two figures that sit cross-legged on top of it. Mark began to swallow his breathing so his ears could adjust to the distance and silence and allow him to hear what Haechan and Jaemin were talking about. It was wrong, yeah, but it was in Mark’s blood.

Jaemin’s willowy form was shaking subtly, and his hair was disheveled like he had just rolled out of bed. He was wearing a thin, white t-shirt, the first time he had seen the boy wearing something that was not long sleeved, Mark realized. Jaemin has always appeared stoic, and calculated, and scarily intelligent, so to see him in this hunched over shape, crippled by his vulnerability, was something Mark did not expect.

“I-I-I can’t get his fucking _face_ out of my _head_!” Jaemin stuttered, voice desperate but still at a conscious near-whisper.

Haechan was gripping Jaemin’s two forearms, firm enough to keep them steady, soft enough that Mark doubted he was hurting or pinching Jaemin in any way. As Mark’s eyes adjusted in the dim light, he was glad the room was shallow enough for him to see, and that his eyesight was good enough in the first place.

Along Jaemin’s arms and wrists were aggravated red slashes, like he’d been cut repeatedly. Or, maybe more accurately, like he’d _cut_ repeatedly.

As Jaemin looked up and off to the side, Mark could make out their puffiness. Red-rimmed and brimming with tears, they looked tired, and his face, more gaunt than usual.

“You need to _listen_ to me, Jaemin,” Haechan commanded at a similar volume. “There was _nothing_ you could have done. Hell, I’m not even sure if he was still _breathing_ when you left him.”

“No, Haechan, you listen to _me_!” Jaemin declared, voice stabilizing for the time being. “I saw his chest _move_ , I _saw_ it, he was alive, and I left him there to _die_ ,” Jaemin insisted, finally wrenching his arms from Haechan’s grip and beginning to rub at his cuts with a vengeance. “I _killed_ him--”

“ _Fuck_ , Jaemin!” Haechan yelled out. He reached back for the other’s hands, picking off his fingers and closing his palms around the cuts, some dark red as if they’d begun to bleed again. His words were heavy, his face was scary, but his mood was comforting, kind, understanding, somehow.

“You had inhaled a lot of smoke at that point, and the heat from the fire messed with the way you see air. You did everything you could--”

“And it _still_ wasn’t enough--”

“ _You did everything you could_ , and no one blames you for anything. No one thinks you’re a killer, because you’re not. You were put in a godawful situation, and it’s _shitty_ I know. But you didn’t kill him, the fire _did_. The building collapsing on top of him _did_. _You_ did not.”

There was a few seconds of tense silence as the shivers that wracked Jaemin’s body intensified, before he keeled over and threw himself across Haechan’s lap. His sobs grew in volume, but never reached a level that would successfully wake the others. From what Mark could see, he thinks Jaemin was muffling the sounds into Haechan’s body.

His body quivered with fear, and his cries were still able to sound desperate and gut-wrenching, muffled as they were. He rolled his head to the side so Haechan could hear him clearer as he whispered, “He shared his lunch with me once. We shared a room together. He was _Jisung’s_ age. He was as young as _Jisung_. _Fuck_!”

“I know,” Haechan comforted, his fearful anger draining from his system. “That orphanage was fucking cursed, I know.”

“I w-want to d-do it again,” Jaemin moaned out pathetically, his stomach heaving as his sobs became too great for him to breathe properly. “My wrists itch and _a-ache_ because I want to d-do it a-again.” Even his wails were interrupted by his irregular hitches in breathing, that were speeding up interval wise. He was hyperventilating, and more likely than not, sending himself into a panic attack.

Haechan’s body visibly tensed as he wrapped a protective arm around Jaemin’s trembling body. “Shh,” he cooed, but the fear in his already weak voice was undeniable. “I understand, but I’m begging you to hold on a little longer.” No response except for the unsteady breathing. “Do you want me to go get Renjun?”

“No!” Jaemin responded, a little too loud. “No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I d-don’t want to b-bother him.”

“I promise you won’t be bothering him--”

“I think he’s still r-recovering from his last episode, and h-he’s still so worked u-up over C-Chenle.”

“Jaemin,” Haechan pried.

“Please, H-Haechan, I don’t w-want anyone t-to see me like,” he took a spastic deep breath as his hyperventilating quickened at the thought of Haechan retrieving Renjun. “Like this.”

“Okay, okay,” Haechan relented helplessly. “You’ll sleep with me tonight,” he instructed concretely. “And I’ll cuddle your arms all night if I have to,” he teased. The tone was playful, but was still laced with terror and an unspoken plea; Haechan meant it. If it kept Jaemin from doing something rash, Haechan, Mark could tell, would do anything to prevent that from happening.

Mark, uncomfortable with how much he had witnessed, but only realizing what he had witnessed at that moment, finally began to sneak back out and to his own mattress, tucking himself in with the blanket like he had promised, and forcing his eyes shut as Jaemin’s sobs haunted his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i love jaemin with all my heart but idk if i liked his part ??? like i like the concept i think and that he's fragile and hurt too and it's so fun to explore, but i just like,,,low-key hate my writing in this entire chapter lol
> 
> idk how to write domestic/funny shit ahh i wanna die 
> 
> this sucks but whatever i'm tired so i apologize if i let u down :(
> 
> find me @ hwayvng (ig) or @ hwayvng (tumblr) !! talk to me friends !


	8. rebellion burns them up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I-I don’t know,” he whispered, tears forming quickly and abruptly. Something tugged at the back of his mind and Mark remembered two separate incidents of two separate timelines. One: Renjun was acting similarly frantic the first night that he met him, and equally as charged and impulsive. Two: Jaemin had referenced, offhandedly, the other night with Haechan that Renjun was recovering from an episode. Of what kind, Mark had no idea, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his mood tonight was a result of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i say this a lot but this chapter is really....bad...it's all over the place but i'm so tried (it's 4 am) and i couldn't figure out how to improve it,,,i had to push myself past writer's block and the result sucks, but i knew if i didn't get this chapter out i'd be in danger of abandoning the whole story oof
> 
> trigger warnings for a mental disorder !!! and another disclaimer, i know very little about the disorder that is mentioned so if i explained/described/depicted it incorrectly, i am sincerely sorry
> 
> i'll update the tags soon but i don't wanna spoil the ch

When Mark awoke, he was met once again with the blinding glare of the sun. He gaze was drawn to the open area between each side of the door frame to a single sweatshirt, neatly folded.

He tilted his neck hard to the left until he felt it crack, and then did the same as he tilted it to the right. He breathed in deeply, and stretched out his arm span, joints popping and crackling to Mark’s pleasure. He rubbed his fingers at the crooks of his eyes, wiping away the crust of the night.

As Mark breathes out, he gets a brief whiff of his morning breath, and it occurs to him that it’s been a day since he’s properly washed and changed, not to mention brushed his teeth. Which was really gross (Even the mafia care about dental hygiene; they’re killers, not savages).

Blinking the remaining muck from his eyes, Mark forced himself to his feet, feeling considerably warm and rested, and made his way into the hallway, grabbing the sweatshirt as he did so, and down the steps.

Upon reaching the main room, he saw Jaemin and Renjun sitting at the table. Renjun in baggy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, with his knees drawn up high enough to lean them against the edge of the table with a cup of hot liquid in his clutches, his thin hands wrapped around it delicately, and Jaemin, in loose shorts and a long sleeve graphic tee, a similar cup next to his arm on the table, untouched, as both of his hands were reaching across to rub at Renjun’s knees which peeked over. As Mark uttered a gutteral, “Morning,” Jaemin looked up, and without even a twitch of his eyebrows he pulled his arms back and grabbed for his mug, fixing Mark with a stony stare.

“Morning, Mark-hyung,” Renjun chirped. He glared at Jaemin, who gave a halfhearted nod in his direction, but nothing else. Renjun sighed. “Did you see your sweatshirt? I grabbed the laundry earlier this morning.”

“I did, thank you.”

“And I made coffee! Would you like some?” Renjun’s eyes twinkled in the low light, and he lifted up his cup slightly, as to show Mark that he, too, had some, though it was quite obvious. “The others are out running some errands.”

Mark gave a gentle smile, and scratched at his temple. “Actually, I’ll have to pass. I was thinking of heading back to my apartment to make sure everything’s okay there, and getting washed up a little, since I have seriously been lacking in that department the last day or so.”

If it wasn’t Mark’s second nature to analyze others, he would’ve missed the slight dip in the corner of Renjun’s mouth, and the way that his eyes dulled and lost focus for a second. He coughed, and took a quick sip of hot coffee. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone, but if you’re all thinking of staying here a while, I could be back tonight?” Mark was hopeful.

Renjun gave a slow nod. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.” But his eyes refused to meet Mark’s and he seemed to peck at the rim of the ceramic ware just to keep his mouth occupied, his shoulders drooping. Mark felt uneasy, but he had forgotten his burner phone charger at the apartment, and it was dead. So if Johnny or Taeil or anyone of importance needed to get in touch with him, he could be in a very bad situation.

Mark got caught up in some internal turmoil, but he finally gained enough balls to walk towards the door, deliberately passing by Renjun, and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he leaned in and murmured a promise to return. Renjun’s shoulders tensed up _hard_ and Mark gave a final pat before striding to the door. Opening and closing it quickly, as it shut he could _just_ see Jaemin’s glare of disapproval through the crack, and then it was gone.

Once Mark was finally back in the apartment, he immediately rushed to the kitchen to plug in his burner and left it to charge. He threw his sweatshirt, not so neatly folded anymore, over the back of the closest chair and made his way to the bathroom.

Stripping down to his boxers in record time, he flicked the faucet head on and brushed his teeth thoroughly, basking in the minty freshness that he felt afterwards. He spun the knob in the shower to turn the water on and popped in once he deemed the water a proper temperature.

The rush of hot water was refreshing on his skin, and allowed his muscles time to relax before he finally began lathering up, and remained under the flow after he had washed the shampoo from his hair. But when he closes his eyes, and his mind began to conjure up images of Taeyong and Johnny in the solitude of his apartment, he slammed the faucet off and stepped out, grabbing hurriedly for a towel so that he could carry on distracting himself from the problem that he was running from in Ukraine.

Properly clean and minty, Mark padded up the stairs to his bedroom to pick out some new clothes to wear, settling for shorts and a t-shirt with an extra button-up on top. As he was drying his hair for a second time, his eyes fell to a backpack next to his dresser. HIs movements slowing, he dropped the towel to his bed, and was subconsciously gravitated towards it. After a few grueling minutes of debate, he snatched it up, and began to throw in a few articles of clothing--shorts, sweats, t-shirts, a hoodie--and then began to scour his room for any other essentials. He grabbed the wallet from his bedside table, filled it with a few extra, emergency bills, and, deeming the rest of it clear, he slung a strap on his shoulder and flew down the steps into the kitchen.

Mark threw the bag on the couch as he passed by, before rushing into the kitchen to check the burner. He held the side button down, and waited impatiently for it to struggle to life. Giving a quick check to his watch, Mark noted the time to be 13:43; later then he had expected. As the chime filled his ears, Mark looked back to the phone as it flickered on. He waited a few seconds with bated breath, before there was a single ding ringing throughout the room.

Text from unknown: _It’s Taeil. Meet me at 20:30. Here are the directions._

As Mark’s eyes scanned the curt sentences guiding Mark through the streets of LA, he slowly trudged to the couch, sitting down defeatedly. He had a few options now: he could wait in the apartment for six hours doing nothing and meet Renjun after Taeil, which would be clean, with little suspicion surrounding it. Or, he could go back to the others now and wait there, but then when the time came to meet Taeil, he’d have to make up an excuse to leave, which could be misinterpreted.

Mark laid down, phone on his chest, strands of wet hair tickling his nape, and closed his eyes.

†††

Mark promises he wasn’t trying to fall asleep. But he was almost grateful that he did, because when he awoke, the sun was low in the sky and the time was 19:24. Maybe it was because he got little rest back in Ukraine due to the nature of his lifestyle, but Mark woke up feeling more rested than he had in years. Mark pushed himself off the couch, and reached to scratch his head absentmindedly. A stiff tuft of hair, now completely dry, caught his attention, and wandering into the first floor restroom, he saw in the mirror that because his surprise nap had occurred while his hair was still wet, the back had been pushed up and dried that way.

Annoyed, Mark flicked the faucet on to wet his fingers and run them through his hair, but it became quickly evident that it was a futile attempt. He sighed.

Giving a quick glance to his watch, Mark was pleased to see that it was 19:30, and decided that he could be early to his meeting. He pocketed his burner and stuffed his feet into his shoes on the way out before he walked into the cool breeze of the evening.

Making his way down the metal steps, Mark embraced the nighttime air and breathed deeply. The sunset painted the sky with strokes of gold, peach, lavender, and baby blue, different not only because Ukraine rarely had those sunsets, but also because Mark never got to enjoy the ones they did have.

So with the wind breezing through his hair, Mark began a leisurely walk through the streets of LA. Only after fifteen minutes of watching drunk couples fight and headlights race through intersections did Mark deem it time to pull out his burner phone and look at the directions Taeil sent to him. Following them and making three crisp lefts, followed by a right, then going straight, and turning right again, Mark reached an empty parking lot hidden from the street by another alleyway. Giving a quick glance to his watch, he noted that he was only ten minutes early.

Making his way to the only headlight stationed in the middle of the lot, he leaned against it and looked up to watch the only star that twinkled overhead, as permitted by the light polluted city.

Switching focus to the crescent moon, Mark wondered if Taeyong saw the same moon whether he was in Europe or Australia or Asia. Wherever he was, Mark just hoped he’d contact Jaehyun soon. He couldn’t go back to Ukraine until Taeyong gave him the okay, but at this rate, he might have to defy him for the first time.

The rustle of a dead branch caught Mark’s attention, and his back straightened immediately as he scanned the perimeter for the source of the noise. As Mark’s sight grazed a shadowed entrance off to the right, a man emerged instantly, and Mark quickly registered that it was just Taeil and, after looking at his watch, it was 20:30 on the dot.

“Good evening, Taeil-hyung,” Mark greeted, bowing at a 90 degree angle to be safe.

A tight nod. “Mark,” he acknowledged. “It’s probably best that we get right into it. Sound okay?” Taeil made quick progress in advancing into the small circle of light provided by the lamp post, and he walked straight into Mark’s line of sight, only a few inches away. His nose was accentuated by the yellow light, and his hair, dark brown with an undercut, glittered with moonlight and lamp light combined. Mark nodded wordlessly.

“As much as I’d like to inform you that Taeyong has made contact with someone, it’s simply not the case. He’s still MIA and he’s left no clues to be followed up on; as expected of NCT’s boss,” Taeil pursed his lip. “So you’re probably wondering why I _did_ need to talk to you. Well, I’ve received intel from a few of my plugs, and there’s been some suspicious activity, especially concerning you.”

“How so?” Mark inquired, head tilting slightly and brows furrowing. A noise sounded far away from the streets and his ear twitched, but he dragged his focus back to Taeil by force.

“Taeyong...Taeyong tried so hard to keep everything organized and safe when he sent you away, but with everything that happened,” Taeil trailed off, a stormy look taking over briefly before his eyes returned to a soft brown. “Things were very chaotic, and I have good reason to believe that you were followed here.”

Mark was left speechless. “Here, as in LA?” A dumb question, but Taeil kindly nodded to humor him. “I don’t know if you were tracked, or bugged, or betrayed, but I think you-know-who sent some goons, and you’re not as safe or disconnected as you or anyone thought you’d be.”

Mark took a deep breath and ran a stiff hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said finally, after a few seconds of pause.

“Stay away from anyone and everyone, because it’s not just your safety that’s at stake. The threat against the syndicate just got that much greater, and especially seeing as how we have no contact with Taeyong...things could get really bad really fast. I trust that you’ll make the right decisions?”

Images of the kids he had met and spent the night with at their place flashed through his mind. Renjun, Jeno, and Jisung. He knew nothing about them, but they were just kids. Taeil, on the other hand, might react drastically, so Mark blinked a few times before he answered with a strong, “Of course.”

The slightest bit of tension seeped from Taeil’s shoulders, and Mark almost felt bad. “I do also have good news,” Taeil reported.

“I could use some of that.”

“My friend has recently touched down and made contact with me. His name is Nakamoto Yuta, and he’s running a little clinic in the city. I pray to anything up there that you won’t need him, but he’s a much better option than the hospital. Too messy.”

Mark nodded in agreement.

“Give me your phone,” Taeil instructed. Obediently, Mark slipped a slender arm into his pocket and pulled out his burner to give to the other. There was a minute of silence as Taeil typed something into it, before handing it back. “His number is in there. If you ever need him, just tell him that Moon Taeil recommended him, and he can help you.”

“Thank you, hyung. I’m so glad I’m not alone here.”

Taeil, already backing out of the circle of light, smiled at him, wide and genuine, not like the usual stony expression he had when they met. “When you’re in NCT, you’re never alone. We’ve got your back. I’ll be in contact.” And then he had disappeared into the darkness, and Mark was left, phone still in hand, in the pathetic circle of streetlight.

Taking a few seconds to thumb the chain of Taeyong’s watch, Mark let out a longing sigh before he gathered himself to turn around and head out through the alley he came through. But as he was walking through, brick wall on either side of him, he spotted a lump curled up behind a dumpster, and, with narrowed eyes, he leaned down to investigate.

He laid a gentle touch on their shoulder and whispered out, “Hello?”

Immediately, before the entirety of Mark’s palm could even touch the curve of his shoulder, the boy sprung up, eyes wild, whimpers sounding in the back of his throat. The shape of his lips, the coffee brown irises, the ruffled dark hair, it was too familiar.

“R-Renjun?” Mark stammered out, words laced with surprise and confusion. For a second, Mark’s hairs stood on edge as he processed the close proximity Renjun was in to where he was just talking to Taeil about Taeyong and his mob activity. If he had heard anything, Mark might be seriously, royally fucked.

“M-Mark-hyung!” Renjun uttered frantically. His eyes were blown out and panicked and his thin arms reached to grab at Mark’s wrists and hands. “Thank _god_ you’re here. I”m in serious trouble and I didn’t know where to go or who to find but I--”

“Slow down, Renjun,” Mark advised, reaching to grab the boy’s hands with one of his own, and, quickly pocketing his phone, wrapping his arm around Renjun’s waist to steady him when he almost fell over. “Now, tell me: what did you do and why were you asleep next to a dumpster in some random-ass alley?”

“I don’t remember a lot, but I think I punched a cop in the face? I didn’t know what to do so I just started running.”

Mark heaved out a sigh, but he realized that he might not have to be very worried about Renjun overhearing him, as he seemed too frenzied, and he was leaning against him and gripping his hand like a lifeline. If he had figured out he was part of the mafia, there’s no way he’d be this clingy, right?

“Renjun, are you alone?” A quick nod. “Why?” A shrug. “Are you on drugs?” A shake of the head.

Mark guided them to the wall so Renjun could place a hand against the brick as extra leverage. He seemed close to shivering, but his skin was warm. “What’s going on with you, Renjun?” Mark asked, staring into his eyes.

“I-I don’t know,” he whispered, tears forming quickly and abruptly. Something tugged at the back of his mind and Mark remembered two separate incidents of two separate timelines. One: Renjun was acting similarly frantic the first night that he met him, and equally as charged and impulsive. Two: Jaemin had referenced, offhandedly, the other night with Haechan that Renjun was recovering from an episode. Of what kind, Mark had no idea, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his mood tonight was a result of it.

As the waterworks began and tears began to overflow, Mark became panicked, and, holding onto Renjun’s slender wrist with one hand, brought his other up to wipe softly at the escaping droplets from the boy’s eyes.

“Take me home,” Renjun begged in a whisper, voice vulnerable and body frail. His breath was warm and still smelled faintly of cinnamon, but there was a shiver in his vocal chords that added an element of chill to his plea.

“Of course,” Mark responded, voice low to match Renjun’s. He slipped his hand from Renjun’s wrist to his hand, and intertwined their fingers.

Silently, the two made their way through the streets hand-in-hand--Mark chose not to pay any attention to the stares they got that lingered too long--with the city lights guiding the way. But just as the buildings began to look familiar, there was a tug at his hand.

“I don’t want to go back anymore,” Renjun huffed out indignantly, the tears having stopped minutes ago.

“Renjun, something’s obviously up with you tonight, but I don’t know how to help you.” Renjun tugged his hand back, but Mark tightened his grip. “I don’t know how to help you, but the others might. Your safety needs to come first, Renjun.”

Renjun made a disgusted expression and curled his lip up aggressively. “I don’t give a flying fuck, Mark,” he growled out. Mark, brimming with concern, couldn’t even bring himself to be offended with the informal speech. Something was wrong with Renjun, and he felt compelled to figure it out. But before that, even, he felt compelled to get him home safely, before he made any more bad decisions.

“I want to go to the club,” Renjun declared, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders set. With his boyish looks and messy bedhead, the request seemed all the more ridiculous.

“You’re seventeen,” Mark scoffed.

“I’m _eighteen_ ,” Renjun challenged, seemingly offended. He pulled at his hand again, but Mark didn’t loosen his hold. “Let _go_ of me!”

“Oh, my apologies,” Mark deadpanned. “Look I don’t care if you’re of legal age or not, tonight is not the night to go to a goddamn club.”

“Says you,” Renjun huffed. “You’re probably a virgin.” He gave a distasteful look up and down Mark’s body and gave a sweetly passive-aggressive smile.

“Says you,” Mark repeated mockingly. “Come on, you’re going home.”

“Fight me.”

“I’m sorry, come again?”

“You heard me. I said ‘fight me’,” Renjun asserted with a taunting eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Mark trailed off, rolling his eyes. “Not gonna happen.” Mark quickly released his grip on Renjun’s hand and reached around his torso, easily throwing him over his shoulder. “You’ll thank me for this later.”

“Fuck you, Mark Lee,” Renjun objected, fists pounding at his back.

“Not tonight, Renjun.”

“You’re stupid,” Renjun heckled. The latter, securely held in place by Mark, finally began to wane his physical protest.

“Not the first to tell me that.”

“Fight me.”

“Get in line,” Mark answered tiredly, giving Renjun a gentle throw to readjust his position over his shoulder.

Only a few minutes later did Mark arrive at the doorstep of the familiar building, and he used a free hand to twist the doorknob while the other was on Renjun’s thigh to keep him steady.

“Renjun?” came an immediate voice, tense and worried, and Jaemin’s face came into view the next moment. “Ren--what happened to Renjun?” Jaemin demanded. His eyes were pointed and filled with suspicion, but the tremor in his question decreased the atmosphere of hostility.

“That’s kinda what I’d like to know,” Mark responded, finally setting Renjun down and rotating his shoulder in circles to stretch it.

“Renjun, are you okay?” a new voice called out, equally as panicked as Jaemin. Haechan emerged from a shadowy corner, worry etched into his creased eyebrows. His dark eyes looked tired, and Mark wondered how long Renjun had been gone.

Renjun had calmed down during the trip, and his mood had changed again, his eyelids heavy with sleep now. “I’m sorry, you guys,” he mumbled hopelessly. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden.”

Jaemin came forward with a heavy, stuttering sigh, and his voice cracked when he spoke. “Stop,” he murmured softly. “You can’t control it, and you’re not a burden.”

“Where’s Jeno?” Renjun asked, droopy eyes still shimmering as he made eye contact with Jaemin.

“I forced him to sleep. He almost made himself sick waiting for you, baby,” Jaemin replied, voice low and comforting. Mark turned away, uncomfortable from the intimacy.

“Well, we better go give him company,” Renjun muttered. Jaemin offered a tender chuckle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Jaemin look to Haechan for confirmation, and he nodded back with a relieved smile. Jaemin slipped his hand into Renjun’s and began to lead him towards the steps, but Renjun pulled away gently and held up a gesture to tell Jaemin to wait. He turned around and his eyes zeroed in on Mark. With quick steps, he engulfed Mark in a warm hug, his short height allowing him to bury his face into Mark’s chest for a brief second before he pulled away and gave a weak, pale smile. “Thanks, Mark-hyung. And sorry for everything.”

Seconds later, he was holding hands with Jaemin again and they were tiptoeing up the stairs together.

“Sit down,” came Haechan’s rough demand. Mark, too exhausted by the night’s events, did so obediently. Haechan sat down next to him, but his body language still screamed of distaste and anger. Was he ever not aggressive?

“Wanna explain to me what I just experienced?” Mark muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“I--” Haechan took a deep breath, brows screwed, and seemed to forcefully push the tension and irritation from his body. “Jaemin says he’s got a mental disorder. Says he’s bipolar. Manic depression, mood swings, the whole shabang.” As he spoke, his eyes focused on peeling fleck of wood and he picked at it absentmindedly, while the other hand, still at his side, curled into a fist.

Mark felt his gaze soften and things began to click into place. The irresponsible decisions, the impulsive and aggressive reactions, hyperactivity; it all made sense. Mark was disappointed in himself for not realizing it right away.

“I’m sorry. My mother was bipolar, too,” Mark admitted. He watched as Haechan’s interest was piqued, and he slowly made eye contact with Mark, this time with less hostility and anger. “If I came off as insensitive--which I probably did--I apologize. I know that it’s no little thing, but I also know that it’s not uncommon.”

Haechan narrowed his eyes. “Yeah,” he trailed off. “Listen, Renjun’s no different or no worse of a person because of his bipolar disorder.”

“I never thought he was.”

“And we’re trying our best with what we’ve got.”

“I commend you,” Mark responded genuinely. He knew from personal experience manic depression was nothing to play around with.

“Sometimes if he gets stressed, he has an episode, and we never really know what to do, but we don’t let him go outside usually because we’re afraid of what he might do or what someone might do to him.”

Mark nodded encouragingly. “That’s actually quite smart. I used to do the same with my mother. Made it easier for all parties involved. So what happened today?” Mark tried his best to keep anything that might sound accusatory even in the slightest from his tone of voice, to keep it supportive and understanding.

“I...we don’t know, really. When we came home, I had the kids help me with the stuff that I brought home, but when he needed Renjun we couldn’t find him.” Haechan, who had been gradually lightening up became heated again, and he slammed a fist on the table, causing a mini avalanche of wood chips. “I let him down _again_ , I can’t believe it, I--”

“I know for a fact bipolar disorder is unpredictable and hard to control, and I don’t think Renjun would want you to beat yourself up over it.”

Maybe this Haechan kid wasn’t all glares and hatred, Mark thought. Maybe he was hurt and scared but had no one to communicate that to.

A second passed. Haechan stood up violently, chair squealing against the cement floor. “You don’t know shit about me or about us, so don’t act like you do,” he hissed.

Or, maybe not. Maybe he really is just a dick, Mark decided.

Haechan turned on his heel and started towards the stairs, but came to a slow halt before he could ascend them.

With his body still facing the steps, he turned his head and made quick eye contact with Mark, his dark irises sparkling in the dim lighting. “But still,” he began. “Thank you for bringing him back safely.”

“Did Haechan just thank me? _Me_?”

Haechan flipped him the bird and groaned triedly. “I know where and when a ‘thanks’ is due, douchebag. But don’t expect too many of them.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter sucks but jaemin calls renjun babe and you can't change my mind 
> 
> also donghyuck ???? talking to mark and not yelling at him for 5 seconds ???? character development ??? more likely than u think
> 
> i finally made a twt !!! follow me @ hwayvng and if ur on ig/tumblr you can follow me at the same name !!! 
> 
> please,,,i know it sucks,,but i'm so greedy for comments/kudos :( ily all


End file.
